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The smell of your lavender scented skin. Romeo. He, yet suttle in his demonic ways, it drips dark buttterflies from behind him.
Leading the path of my benevolent peach lips to darken from your heroic drugs.
You reproduce yur sermon of a Sherpard's watch dog. Unto my body, as I, within it, feels even.
The way thou words speak, it says unto my voice, hither thee. Come ye above my brocken heart. So that your torch may melt it from the dark cold grounds.
The smell of your rose scented skin. Juliet. She, yet suttle in her strayful ways, it drips dark buttterflies from behind her.
Doest thou love when I touch you? Every shinglings i recieve when I whisper sand into your water filled ears.
I shall blow the trumpet when thou body rains down the cloth of silk and cotton herbs. That show forth your skin of passionate pain.
Ye, you are a woman of the plum, the golden fruit of time.
You never age with the blood of fire, nor die with the sword of the mighty heavens.
I will take you afar. For you are like unto an ocean of secrets. Lifting black doves from falling into their own desires.
Let us go, Romeo.
Let us go, Juliet.
Til' upon the forevers.
