A grove of your name
had carpeted my way...

The poem two hundred eighty
but the first, to pen down your sunlight...

The sun broke down like honey drips
warming out my soul...

I hate the fact
that I saw you...

Today might be hectic
bursting with announcements...

As doubt rushed me over,
you watched the last piece...

My heart is pumping sharp thorns killing my heart...
As sharp as snow feels while standing on;with bare...

My heart
grave and verdant...

Just because I don't speak,
it doesn't mean; I don't know...

A calm gasp in
a warm breath out...

Nothing's new.
I'm coating you with words again...

Sailing in a breathless
pause when she with her...