a dragon twists on wings of fire, flowers in the opal clouds, spiraling, then swooping higher, distant until night haze shrouds love my only friend is waiting, tiring at the close of day, like a dragon fire abating as it makes its distant weary way
to stand out from the rest is who you are. you do not wear this like a crown; it is more of a testament to what you've seen than how you let it color your intent. for much is ugly in this life, this way; for we must live within our egosphere and bloom where we are left to grow, or wilt, as suits are disposition and our strength. to stand out from the rest: your destiny. for it is meaning that you freely give -- and knowing you has opened up my eyes to just where joy can be, and in what form.
dreary not and solemn never, celebrating what she can; half the distance to forever, measured in a second's span followed on, and leaving after, adoration's full repute; living love and loving laughter, choices just herself to suit special need and general freedom, spanning many kind regards; knowing much, and helping many, fortune's favor in the cards
upon the snowy ground he sits to see the sun go down; the day is turning into dusk across the sleepy town the lights come out to show the month, the air is crisp and clear; but he's just glad to see the show or even to be here
even-handed living, walking, doing, loving, hearing, talking even-handed, even-hearted, and so glad we even started
it’s just a scent, an essence, but it fills her with desire most prosaic ancient accidents and analytic splendor on the table. does she think of him? she does, but it is nothing like he wants precursors to a dance, in hazelnut and vague mismatched capitulations. he tells her that it's all a dream; she tells him all her secrets and everyone who watches sees the game it's just a scent, an essence, but the coffee has intention their difference is what makes them the same
patter, pitter, well, but bitter, deep in throwing a no-hitter, love the heat, but hate the splitter, quitting time, but none’s a quitter little good happens in American courts, little good happens in American courts sibylline on triviata, sails set on the day’s regatta, got some hate, but not a lotta, travesties become errata little good happens in American courts, little good happens in American courts, of course things seem out of sorts: little good happens in American courts