Paved was the date. Forewords were written, knelt towards the ground a crest was engraved, and motifs wrapped with faith restored.
Trumpets curdled, a raspberry coolis. Fresh were the tunes that followed. A French toast to Sunday's best as the pair figuired what syrupy pool they could soak in. The perfect matcher, sweet amusements that flutter back and forth.
~
Thawing the icy, glimmer of each piercing bolt that slowed the irony - before freezing set in. Tuning the warmth into a wisp, glowing, as the strumming beat lifted a weight of burden. Where sight froze. When time slowed. The grappling pull that gravitated -paused- and sight returned.
Still, the blindfold to chatting as these calls to seek senses and harp the horns that zoned in. Zoning out into what is seen as vast expanses not held in ones' hands. Seperating in waves further bound were the exploration as evaporation dispersed the icicles into tiny drops that covered the skies.
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