This is the fast-paced strategy-game

Perchance might he take her last dance again, down upon her unaware knees … seems she’s been believing again

In something, anything, matter of fact gathered from comfortably grandiose
That will let itself soliloquy release to settle and terrifically breathe… and she so suddenly soon feels his heavenly touch, his devoted difference relinquish these deadlocked demons if only for a smiling while

When the tick-tock-ing time machine of yesteryear magically arises to majestically arrive … and the dangling candelabra of coaxed dreams has been lit to recount and recapture the scripture’s screaming summarise

Shape-shifting as it did in its days of yore – ferocious and painfully foretold

And these pandering people – with softly, softly nettled feathers intertwined and still bleeding near their still thinking brains – have been twisting their glistened ring-fingers and hoping above all else

They need to learn to lean in and to enthuse themselves to vividly listening

… That the flighty Manhattanite clock will reverse to take petrified, putrefied stock and at a specially, specifically bespoke manner of hastened pace

Til its lingering, creaky and wooden wandering fingers meet the bare-boned facts right at the panic-stricken middle of the 6p.m. over-embellishment

Marvellously manic,
All hands gently settled against deck again and deliciously doused by the other person’s gentrified and trusted nature – all facial features have been brush-stroked, poked-fun-at, to within a photoshopped inch

Ladies & mental-men, the 21st century welcomes you

And, finally, we see it all for its whole wide-eyed, earthly homegrown worth – sometimes upsetting, yet forever of an interloper’s lifestyle an honest kind of a multi-coloured white-lie

Indeed, it is inside of the ravenous and tumultuous flickering flame of the rare eye of the brazen beholder, where it simply begins to bring and begs itself to smoulder