Cannot,
Shall not,
Simply must not make it happen ever again
This pen – silk-ribboned, mounted right by bounds of reawakening precision tends to fending for itself
Either way frozen forth,
She shall be the driving force stirred miraculously within one such behemoth and instrumental lady
And she can have it all by the break of a quaking and rather shudder-speed Dawn
Petrified by the darkened-exterior silence – soon as the hesitantly lit light turns itself softly o-f-f
Simply
Going
To
Happen
by alarmingly delicate aside frightfully delightful happenstance
When one shrinking-violet silhouette meets her meek comfort-zone right by the thunderstorm middle and takes to blasphemous derision at strenuous pace
Whilst bringing this bountiful Mona Lisa smile back into immaculate play once more
Please, oh pretty baby
Deplore what’s agonized these outrageously intimate eyes of yours
Whilst soaring a million miles wider than anyone could have ever fully fathomed to bring one’s self to imagine
They may now, after all of this tremendously wrought-iron time, clasp their strengthened hands together again and witness to watch
Themselves miraculously dance
Like, it does suggestively tend to fending for itself and seem, nobody’s ever really been bothered to force another such lacklustre person to watch
Seems he’s been waiting with arms wide open
To pen her inescapably in again – that utterly insatiable thing wherein derision goes to flag itself insane, set itself flabbergasted aflame
To die right by their chosen sword, these Warlord words namely
