Within the weight of a bombastic laugh…lulled radiance from a familiar smile. The reflexive moods, wooly and wild.
I could not, cannot, stroll past this whimsical child…with her lyrical style.
All I can turn over, is my smirk and wish that I had treated her better. To hear, as though, I had heard songs sung before.
…
Hurry, hurry, I must.
Chorus lines await at a threshold that I dare not shut.
An innocent door shall always spurn me. A giggle in the sun shall be two times more than greedy treasurers. And, I shall set my guile to musical scores. IT hushes to sleep the worrisome winter’s whore.
