Glowing gliding glaring
to the sun caressing,
driving madly over you,
they flowers they are won.
On matress windfall falls,
it trembles, jerks and growls,
the one of blossoms that I love
a spasm clinging on your cove.
Ascribe, ascribe your love in me,
of rivers flying over glee,
the morrows finer than the runs
in meadows wetted over nuns.
Don’t just don’t impress me there,
it’s rather boring in the mere
of books and letters and the rave
of sungastacious morning flares.
Endow the colors of the sun
the beauty of the framing thought
the one that brings out what
is best and worse in you.