If only you knew what held it,
What kept it in its place -
If only you knew what made it,
Would it yet taste the same?
Longevity in revolution,
Furtive hope becoming frame -
To strip its brilliant color
And wonder what will remain.
If what did could stay corruption,
Preventing orbit from keeping count,
Would it be freely able to float
By variance, or amount?
Riven words slip through
Foaming minds with sharpened teeth;
Oh, how the ripe and delicate
Could feel so nurtured,
And incomplete.
Oh, how could blue ever be so dull;
How could filth ever be so sweet.