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By coujeaux Date: 2003 May 05 Comment on this Work [[2003.05.05.22.11.24005]] |
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Aye, hue are you, for I've not tasted thy shade before; rouge my chics, amor, Flow as rainbow, top to the toe, dance a shimmer as kaleidoscopic coeurs d'or. Hint of a grey has come my way; I am neither sunrise bright nor evening fade, Coloured by beckon of what I behold before we returns shine to dragon's jade. Dove is my grasp, cardinal my centre; apex realizing a dream warm as flares, Allow me to cry as whispers the butterfly flitting past; mercies upon gentle airs. Gaze high, crystalline blue; glances below, salvation vert; palettes far and wide, I see how we love in the vibrant universe itself; ever inconstant, spectral divide. She is the softest tint; loving stroke and touch, never quite captured by the eye, While he comes into sharper focus, edge defined by the etch into an opaque sky. Pinks of her devotion, crimson of his desire; swirling the auras gently to and fro, Do you see our flesh tones splash together as liquid imaginations come then go? Artistry once was bathed with the hush of indiscretion, indifference, inertial drag, Canvas grew empty as reaches of the everlasting unexploration, primordial slag. Resurrected not for wishes nor fortunes nor anticipation but encored nonetheless, And decisions whether to reembrace her aglowed confounded an educated guess. Closer star, I know here you are, but so impossibly close is your consort; gleam, Do I surrender supple safety de mon héritage noir or caress the dangers, dream? |