A Phantom Cry

I privy love, adept to die, a fantast love, a phantom cry. My
Flower wind, ascend the skies, inflate the pain, assuage the
Hives. In truth—the love, a velvet suit, a heated storm, a
Ferric coop. But flute to flame, the fantast dreams, alert to
Love, a mythic theme. My flower wind, a melted sky, a
Temple thief, a sophic eye. And privy love, adept to pain, a
Mystic love, an iron crane. Infuse the gut, a sea of souls, a
Tassel prayer, a Ghost of old. My comely flare, a ripple
Soft, a lotus wing, an oaken cross. Indeed the love, a
Shadow fare, a forest hike, a sudden scare. And sagic flame,
A privy scar, a darken light, a tear afar. But lute to heart,
A fleet of prose, a cryptic web, a field of crows. Indeed the
Love, a healing wound, a feeble grip, a bleeding moon. And
Fathom pain, adept to die, a fantast love, a phantom cry.