Further into the nights cove, i am lain to the ever amounting relinquished, ‘Geisha mouse of love’, in a residual thought. My keeper of goodwill, corrupt to the heart, slain in a trespassing hour of risen love, the visage to a rotund wealth of inner beauty. Those words them friendly, in mending equation, the relating in refinement; my expandable note’s of worth, these a contributory gesture of living strength to capture in the sight of vast, a remind to the fiction of sombre night’s in make; our mile less worn, the ever without, your love a word, never to be retold.

2019 Adam Blewett ©