1.70 : 17.02.10
The self-contained wonder of the adamantium hive. It brakes when your eyes fall on mine. Like nothing else it consumes. Twigs break on your back and grow in the light. The leaves fall past our fears into the night. Our break is beautiful. A tumbling shame that sets our teeth aflame. My god is untrue. And the bark peels back to reveal you. It’s there when my pencil sings to my ear. Telling no one of my fear. A section that prevails. Saves and Sails. Equates to nothing and satisfies everything. Our journey is consequence. As we live through the bribery. It fails. We are clear. For the first time in the shadow of a burnt gear. Salt, Bricks and Guilt. A place lined with felt. It’s not common place, it’s a twice conceived element of purest fear. A jack in the box of secrets our passion belongs. It tastes the contraption as the sugar runs smooth. My dear. Swoon by my enemies. And peer out from the glass of ages. Living all the while with a hundred and one tentative caressing fears. Beating and falling all past the waves. The rushes are broken and not to be saved. Up through my time all that has to be thine. I smell no lime, sugar or thyme. Where has this been, through my sad time? A pathway of consequence, story and rhyme. It begins once again. It’s there and clear but for a moment it shines. Glitters away from my golden fears and ecstatically vanishes in your fading tears.