Windowsill Windmill

Cotton balls recovered, balloons popping,
lives slipping, love dipping,
beauty dripping, sweetness licking,
the core of the masterpiece flickering,
a exotic listing,
a promise breaking,
Yes of course, my dutchess dancing,
dare I say, the clumsy dutchess dancing?
A lady of beautiful touch,
her words so sweet,
her voice so soft..
her eyes so green.
a perfect colour, my favorite flavour.
a findings are her.
my life is for her.

winemills turning, ursela the psycho witch burning,
shes blurry - what she says is obsecure, its scary,
its cropped in flows of ice specks,
storming into a deep drama,
styling yourself away from others,
the beauty of narcasstica i am not aware of,
i'm not a werewolf your not my shelf,
a corpulent painter, a blush of touching an elf,
a rigged deck ready to explode in a sec,
murmuring fiends getting on trains,
popping shotguns, parading scenes,
scandals swaggering, alcoholics taking swills,
the picture fading,
life without sight is not my type of life.
Fly away like a ricecake,
Open your eyes to redeem your quality,
Desert those who dont deserve your love.
Or stay with them, and suffer, or stay strong.
Life is short, taking things for granted is imagining saving a life is simple as popping a cork
candlewax melting, annoyed by alec baldwins acting,
an overrated schmuck of a man,
the violinist chung is far superior at hand.
so where is my darling?
yes, still in the ember.
and yes, this is my tension.
its tightening, its hard to breath, hard to move, easy to feel,
easy to sob an sob an sob.
blame the wicked distance,
legally it hurs to count...
I cannot reveal what this means.