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If lovers of lovers had a story self-reflect would look upon a river and share old wise tells 
Would it perhaps be nacrracsitic or shallow 
Or knee deep to jump in 
Idealism or fantasy I say turn the page 
If my child was that of divine whisper among the Hampton of the Heaven’s 
Thrones and berries that of the fine wine should one bless among each bread basket
Yet to say to learn of perfection that of affections attain by the vision to learn of 
Another language of communication would be Inferior to not that of a touch that of 
Apparatus as a kiss of hand of risk morning good bed
Sleep of a morning covers the way that it wraps around her body would be a gift
Send from heaven	
What wakes turn morning into not such a another day 
but a beautiful bluish day I said her love
Sight and mind give me a vision would be perhaps be common sense
If gentlemen attire is to catered to her love passion assure the passage of the storm 
Apure and tell me how deep is one love
If continuum was a option would one value the option perhaps would one said
Eternal fatefully gracefully awakes or would old wise tell of such 
Passion that awakes
How rare is Tuberose and Delphinium growing together
What beautiful texture and sense it make love among stars 
Perhaps Apuleius could sing a carol tell if cupid arrow ever MISS the attire
Those that ask are welcome tell me if fashion matters? 
I question not of love but ask 
does love every grow old

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