Thio violets
Thio violets tend the bruising stones upon the heart's elision leaf.
Cocologies and death's eyes where anger taps the parquetry of black
maracas. Despondency is boisterous behind the cache stare, and green
porphyry the gaunt alchemist that is grief. Oscitancies wait coveting
time as the aubergine crysalis for Carolyn. Intention as confetti provides
the sequins of chameleon and of ladies ire progress. Today is arbitrary
to sieve and siege, touch is yet but lisle glass, batik decades forgotten
in the decimals of sighs. Bitterness wearing a gamboge smile, and the
ear despises cowardly its luteoline voice. Partial alteration did neither
bring beating arch, but fatal apathies of courses recoiling, and penchant
against further praise, which regal once placed its sulfer to sun. The
horizon exsists, but not outside, inside, in the dark, I witnessed the
eyes God would have given the sun, in orgasm and in a kiss, how does
one forget and ascend above such universe. Where the heart dreams a
myth may die as grief stricken as any physical death, in nonparamedic
statistics.
by Kristin Ryling