Blush one, with aim of
sacrament, as you a
swirl in cheek of god,
can there be such a
kiss as your body? What
grace is known by
you, what else dispersed
when from heavenly
convoy you arrived?
Answerless, do not fear,
you, without virginity,
still innocent fawn. Forever,
sprite and destiny, intuitive grace.
plush rose of heaven, boquets
danced and bestowed in all the rooms.
I have for you, in a bottle,
perchance on the wind, a yell
up vent in too strong labyrinth,
a priceless, as you know, precious
request of the bewailed.
For you see, bringer of love,
lamp of embered flame
with chomp and will to blaze,
cup of purest water, sea
in hands as you bless
to foreheads, and smeared:
There are those of us,
who stare in truthful rooms,
with outlets, wires,
dim or no light, movies of
damp colors, old, since unimagined,
with penchant awe our eyes
like lamps. Heroes
earn favor or all the same,
no bodily salvation for a
neglected Danny Rose,
as battered we haunch
in mirror and question
are we still seraph?
Were we? Are we dastardly rod,
are we merely dingy
with no ounce of any to
be such a minceful
part of your divinity and
blessed hilt and spine?
Fawn, woman, with chest
of breathe, heaving tabernackle,
in moment, say a prayer
for us, for those not present,
nearly everytime, mutter it
aloud, carve it with your nails,
exhale it fully down a hollow vent.
