Ardor born of the vexing
Synchronized a society to which I reluctantly belong
We have all once died laying beside our body in repose...
Filled to the brim with anxiety
Indisposed.
Because, like the hounds, following the hints of a memory
Man is unabashed in deriving pleasure with abandon from all the waste
Indulging this hate so hard, so indiscriminate, so haste...
So satisfying.
Love becoming temporal in time; brazen in its forthrightness - peppered with kisses chaste,
But so pacifying.
I count my pedals and put ever the sense to its epithet
Did swoon, depraved, but for the very least, cognizant of it.
For it is up to my own person not to tolerate one day
This severance from the molder the clay
Heaven forbid the razor handle ever be put to a use
Outside of carving from it a gilded flute.