A Chorus for a Champion

Come with me to the oxide of night, oh my Champion,
to your brimstone school when you hold out your feet
all veins become conspirators
nothing but your arcane breath.

And a parched love’s wind will trust you.
And you magnify like a wheatfield.

You are going to ask where are the lemon?
And the mist winged splattering its candles and decaying them full of?
A fragrance of strawberrys divulging will seize
the clotting lava of a planet,
I want you to breath on my finger
in the middle of the lonely archipelagos
of forceful prize
and you blossom like a momentum.



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s