Vivir sin sentir sería un sinsentido.

Vivir sin sentir sería un sinsentido.
The flower that blooms last is the most rare and beautiful of all.

Thursday 30 July 2015

Mecexis.

Mine cherished bewilderment, whither has't thy stammering steps withdrawn thee to? Wherefore didst thee depart? What kind of obloquy foddered thee with such bounteous peevish flair? Thy bouquet still lingers in mine entrancing nebula of dreams, yet swamps me in a sheet of truancies, espousing words I can glimpse in thy umber myriad. Beloved confabulations which art far from reacheth and flounce into the night like scampering phantoms, wherefore art thou lurking? And still maybe thy trail wilt leadeth me to the poignant Arcadia I witch hunt in mine sleep. O faltering daze, cometh back to me and grant me thy plush eternity. Please sate me with thy cassonade, for mine draught hadst nev'r hath felt so aqueous as the outpours down mine cheeks. Wherefore art thou heading? Whither doest thy striding taketh thee to? Mine darling, mine nectar, mine halvah. Thy vacancy stains mine tears with bittersweet rubies. Cometh to me. Talk to me. Die with me. 

Addah Monoceros.
©2011.

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