Poezja

Whilst a medley of us lied upon the flocculent canvas
An ever so comely sound had been shaped of the void
‘Twas the sharp sound of supremacy coming to pass
 
 
 
Though honored am I to speak
Upon the sweltering passion
‘Twas an invitation like none before
Scourging these bones of the dark
Of which they habitually drink
 
 
 
The quaking quite mollifyingly
Renders a sense of solidarity
To unfathomable tribulation