Riding the suave charm
of the sparkling destiny,
a stillness suspended
beneath the ink
ofΒ the enlarged lines,
hardly painted flawless
smudge of bittersweet moods.
The pendulum warbled
the continual dissolved tract
and syllables lingered
in deserted love nests
left to the seasoned memory.
Nor Ides of March oriented
the vehement tingle swarm,
untold pleasures of pastΒ present
and immense harmonies
our portraits on the last days
of a heartfelt feature molded
in a vacuum.
Through the slender fingers
despicable sentences.