108.

Not just a simple predicate,
of delicate subjects.
I don’t want to be subject to the trapping of the English rhetoric.
No elegance,
is worth a trapping of the human heart.

Thus, my poetry is embellished with,
inspired music that’s edited.

My penning are sentences,
that reaps love how weddings get,
which says heaven sent us to separate
the ending from the devilish.

Thus, I begin with, the ending in mind,
sharing the principle of force…
At times,
I write long as surf boards,
Or sharpened pencils cut just as short.

Nevertheless, it is written with what is pure,
I am sure…

That what I make with words,
Could be a cure,
If turned into pure;

Medicine for the soul,
that medicine is an element,
which resembles that of gold,
from the shores of distant lands away.

I stand away,
from your core.

It is hot,
and it melts my love to it’s pure,
form,
that needs much more adorn
than your store,
Of which has things I need more of.

I am sure of you,
And your ability to change hue.

I am sure of you,
And your stability to change clues.

One second you are blue, and the next you are pink.

As a man who is dark,
You would shutter from what I think.

But blush from a blink,
Or from a smile, that hoodwinks.

I am simply a man who makes many mistakes.

But those that accept me,
I love them even more.
I love them more than I love myself.
You are the world,
Which I created in my own mind.

I thank you for your help,
For saving me from a hell.

I thank you for your shelf,
Booking me a flight
To a higher dimension of imagination.

I thank you for your belt,
Wrapping and packing,
The dark contents that spill fast with acceleration.

You are the deer,
that resembles a lion’s battle,
except with no hesitation.

You are the fear, that bottles my air;
I look at you with such respectful adoration.