Love from across the table or in the room seems so commonplace that we secure ourselves to its steely grin and grip the rails and we descend to the underbelly of reason. But fragrant there, what whiff of air, of peace and non-betrayal? Not here your drops of teary gift not now your ensconc'ed writ - not that unsacred lit.
If God be perventure there then season't with elonic ale and graft it on to your display that grace is grace yet greas'd i may unfit for seasoning and share a fit of grace often hardened it.
What princes seal their fate anon and kindling deeper deeper don their frailties in an hour and fright destroyed defend the light