Black-pearl enigma, riddle hurled
in obsidian insignia — trademark,
the pattern of your eyes.

No ivory-flushed hallway, they eschew all light.
No soft bluff of chestnut, pools gather in the night.
No spatter of ecru, softer-you, still knows how to fight.
No relenting of the black honeydew, the mold got to you alright.

Your iris is a spade to dig with.

The feel is vintage green.
The tissue is bloodied.
The smell is caramel and metal.
The hearing is delayed.
The thought and the speech have been impeached
by the licorice cough.

No poets exist for that kind of absence.
Wordsmiths lose their ability for speech.

Every now and again, a cherry-picked matrimony:
whom to wed with warmth and war.
Warn, who to alarm? Focus jets.
Focus jests. Lest locusts jet.

Our ire inspires knots that not. Greasy empires, inspire dickering.
The art of haggling, bizarre bazaar.
Tepid mushrooms, boom, boom, poof.
Drink to proof, elixir smooth, roof tongue roof.
We donated pieces, instruments, and appendages for the cause.

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