Number 22—
Then count the only words left
Lest I am to forget my calling
My recollections, I — adept
My words, appalling?
— I, forget.
Aptly.
—
Upon the lasting bliss, euclidian memory?
She sings of Her Terraform —
Majesties. –And lost hymns beckoning,
A moment unto this re-creating, — descanted. — As we, –
laughing at
– synergies.
Bleeding the unbecoming,
I belong.
I drew and I sang of the –
swords and the beauty of She —
But I never blindly descant to,
Her soliloquies, —
— but unto ghosts, tauntingly.-
As the moments of Spirits naming me,
I, to be named as our vowels body—
were to glisten, so too— Listen!
Unto them, as The pours — - knowest, most of these
– lucid codas.
—
For once it was scribed —
Then, many unto and of my mastery –
To now abide, my truth
— mayest, it is through my darkness –
- laughingly, through the eyes; - – I, dampened, this fog of allure and allied.
Though I nil, naught.
— Nor shall I anywise have envied,
— but I, which this amaranth of my
love in vehemence therein—
lastest art, of my Laurietic of emetic,
as; — Forevermore.—
Our than I, or our.
But Before.
.
.
.
.
.
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