My muse unfolds the global night as a chameleon of the storm rolls with a melancholia of cello strings of resin to slide between the wings and a cacophony of the tempest in effigy of my juggernaut with shards of my compose.
There's are gnomes in the poet's forest with mushroom caps, hidden in trees down by the willows in my dreams raining libations of speckled kangaroos swinging in burlap hammocks of cheddar's cheesecloth and heaven's big chamois down by the willows in my dreams of speckled kangaroos.
As the cold moon filters in, mirrored on my sleeve gazing deep in the night, reflecting my pulsing heart with a whiff of the wind, from a tree that stands in twilight's pond, of echoes and Ogon Sweet Flag mirrored on my sleeve, your lip's Chantilly golden crimson of desire on the water.
With a carbon copy of night and memories closing my eyes on tomorrow's dawn we will meet again in life's coloring book as the dew spawns autumn's brown of auburns and gold as time slips away wearing heaven's crown untouched by hands with a carbon copy of night and memories.
In catacombs of my mind, dark of dead inhaling silence over rapids and stones and where evil beds at twilight puffing devil's smoke of midnight weeds of the dragon's tooth as dreams grind wheat for pumpernickel bread, as my inkwell bleeds.
My soul of life lays within the heart of me of bluebells humility and gratitude with words hiding in the flowers like little hats of thimbles with songs until twilight comes along with my tea and tiskets for my basket.
Rare the mystics of my soul, visit me in scarcity of my restless spirit, padlocked as I scribe beneath the shroud of my tonsure and physical phenomena at dusk's twilight wrestling the flesh of my medusa constricting my mind with tentacles grasping the dawn of harum-scarum slogging in the maze of my own labyrinth nursing her sanctimonious teats.
With eyes she stares at me, from her worn stone a marble vanity where her photograph lays of liquid dark black rose, like a singular flower so softly hearing rain, reaching to me with petals cloaked in the withering moss falling the night with a shadow of nightingale, my precious plays fingers on my memories, liquid dark black rose.
Understanding the depth of my falling in darkness of my Amadeus the source of aesthetic pleasure freeing my orgasm time to explore in gothic obscurity exciting my passion beyond the principles of death of shadows and gargoyles and iterations of ghastly cogs the cistern of my mind in darkness of my Amadeus.
Of breathless darkness in my musings in my shroud of pale embracing death alone in this narrow box sick at heart gazing in your eyes of silent dreams touched by a spirit in nature's paradise where streams wander with waters of glean as soft winds sing me an angel of breathless darkness in my musings.
As I tootle-foot along the way over costal dreams and streams through meadows of yesterday and marigolds of butterfly wings bubbling life's champagne crickets fiddle fantasia's quadrille over stepping stones and 'morrows where love covers every bough hearing the piccolos fife over costal dreams and streams of sandcastle in the air as I tootle-foot along the way.