From the shaker's vault and the veins of salt in nature's frame a leaf about to fall from the tree of life listening to the voices of humanity's reign in nature's frame from the shaker's vault

Harboring the memories in nectarine nocturnes when we were young and courted lemons plucked tenderly that held a scent of nature's beyond touched by the breath of soft mellow winds in nectarine nocturnes

Seamless shadows and motions nature's shillelagh trees in the sod where notions of voices dwell with sorcery whispering gales silently from fragile demitasse changing seasons' magic to bestow a scared breath of floating leaves with sorcery whispering gales

In my mind's unkempt places of metaphors and stereophones before brushing my teeth with the silence of time getting louder turning the night out as I sleep whispering to a quilt beast walking quieter than my feet as it fades to a powder with a length of my skein bunting a cross-stitching floss went hunting from the Sandman's daunting with the silence of time getting louder

In correspondence with nature's backdrop a step away from the land of eternal dreams from the eye of salvation and azure blue sky listening to the whispering chair transporting an imagination of magical places unforgettable of oaken sails and falling leaves breathing

...a thousand murmurs whispering once upon a given to seek a kiss from the mannequin's shadow dwarfing the twilight as I dream listening to the shrinking heart through the windows cellophane in shades of stippling souvenirs for this, I shall remain in depths of light and dark twirling on the page skipping through the shadows peeking into the lover light waiting for a kiss shrinking into night

...it's my Beetlejuice and not your karaoke dancing with a shadow and memories with whimsical pistachio green shells listening to the coffee pot's concierge paint mustaches on the ink well's clam sliding on the escalator without a destination it's my Beetlejuice and not your karaoke

in remembrance of Quasimodo with the breath of olden's short winds like unseen presence leaves of dead driven like ghosts fleeing bones of men with a little less chin and matted hair but the character of the man is in the treetops

...you are my caviar, pimento of soft red lips, no herring from Norway, just memories, quince of my despondency

In Cupid's secret queue of the early dawn getting the biscuits quiet as a field mouse pimento red dark roses essence dew drops sweet as ardor listening to silence dripping from the fluorescence memories dressed as ganglions under my skin listening to silence aged of philosophy in Cupid's secret queue of the early dawn getting the biscuits quiet as a field mouse

Cranking out the blues in Racine inferno's axing my Gitfiddle beams. Of dark's dilation strangling strings coated with morphine's cosmoline. Blinking twilight upon a dream when the boogyman screams. Cranking out the blues in Racine inferno's axing my Gitfiddle beams.

The keeper of my shadow in escrow, presumptuous of my pen's epitome. No more bees, wildflowers, or words, now footprints of places forgotten. In the sand, washed away by the tides, between the metaphors and the shoals. In my solitude with a broken silk fan, of nature's Hope Chest, dreaming. Twilight's memorabilia, whispering beneath the glass of fading neon light. When we were discreetly ghosts, and felt the pulse of the...

With shadows raining singing to treble nothing but silence with a fragrance of the Bathsheba rose and ghosts with pinions awakening seeds of the Hollyhocks becoming dreams of honey and tea with wings of bees fading thimble listening to murmurs of sympathy sweetening the cultured lox with shadows raining singing to treble

Haunting capricious shadow a silence grandeur to adore of darkness half-strangled kneeling at naked shores with love's restrained and a theatrical footprint beneath my door as my quill deploys as before a silence grandeur to adore

Sounding the echo of an eternal choir and shadow of loveliness in hourglass from the archives beneath the window of yesterday's forever-now memories in seance with the templars of nature listening to winds good fellow calliope and yawling sails of Autumn's mizzen