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but do not become stuck in it trying.

is not always the point.

This day he sits,
cool; but from wind
not lack of fire

of flowing piquant wit
upon a throne
that throws desire

to away,
from afar,
silent may,
burden mar

A sine in the sea
caps of white debris
remains of a day
left in memories,
haunting dire

Staging light
on a thin delight
the sparkle shines
amongst illustrious divine

Lucky chance
at life's dance
Fell onto cupid's lance, perchance

So let us speak
veracious
And lest us devour
voracious

A precious trickle
of Love we're shown
That conquers envy, evil,
our souls are sewn

To once upon a lifetime
of a heart that always beats
In a mortal,
ideal to hear
a song only learned
by the grace of the angel's feat

So as we look and as we listen
we read the pages from the eyes that glisten
in the light, in the wind, or in the modest waves

speak of something soft . . .

And so the time passes,
and so the liquid in the glasses,
fills hearts tangible,
of one so sweet.
Now and then
we cater hereafter,
then spend our lives
speaking ever faster,
then,
a minute of midnight
the moonlight,
the foresight,
delight;
that is laughter
shared by faux prints
of a master.