Attic Plum Tree

So many tears, my love: and such a soul-print; and such fortune.

My vibrant mental: such epiphany; and every color, the

Sweetest nectar. The miracle, a dreamlike vision: such music.

She courts an heirloom; and reckons a fantast. I was so enlove;

And so quixotic; but depth the soul, a temblor. The world

Would rattle: the cage would shatter; and God would intervene.

It’s so true, my love: a quilted thought; and ardent drums, a

Beating light. My empyreal soul, what the love; and attic peers,

A forest chant. Our debut, such a myth; and our love, such a

Fear; and never such want; and never such prayer. She longs

The vision: a world of contentment; but mantic spells, diehard;

And captured thought, dissipates. Our lilac tears, a fettered

Dream; and crass affect, a misprint. Something dies the birth;

And something lives the love; and something cries the purple.