O” Morn can open a Violet Like a book of hearts Chapters ultraviolet Coarse and converse In tales of beaux arts O” sees my lady immerse Her delicate soul thereof
Love without the pain What would be the gain? What would be the point? Should life never disappoint? Not even once in awhile... Should we not all be more?
In a country native to her thighs An eastern promise no doubt defies The building of straw weeping eyes The cradling of ageless goodbyes In their citadels of golden flower
