As the gaze of bitterness gowns the song of his amber eyes,
The spoiled optimist is soon to bore a violent complacency.

Rarely I yield to dangers that sleep abed a uncrowned king,
Fear stifles me not as divinity tremors about this king’s mystery.

Presage once softening the waters that/his calm gusts made music of, sharpen the insecurities of his fears.

Shivering woes of his clouded past days spoil the loveliness that bestows his new waking days.

O, never have tinted eyes such as his been known to my frowning brown eyes.

Weary eyes that burst in hues of honesty and integrity, ardent jewel of this wandering desert.
His eyes,
they are more young than the world.
his exhaustive journey still embarked upon has made a gospel only voiced by his gaze.

Embedded with storms that bore abundance, his journey flows. (this
) – –

king of storytelling winds,
O how he has blown about/amongst the seasons, once again his waltz shared with the gale of my content has soared the current that becomes my morning breath.

The fortitude which has enriched my blood is graciously honored,
So to has (so has, just as, for now) his presence become the endless gift of serenity that flows throughout my lungs.

Naked, you are as silk which coats the royalty throned to summers youth. Your body, a monastery of distant lands, gleams as the mingled moon soothes

Naked, the mistral born of my shameful remorse, is made weary. and-now eager to know sleep, my sea shimmers when your hands drape the skin I’ve saved for you, my king.

Naked, your body eludes me, for nothing greater I may know is felt when our voice forgets language, and our eyes dance along immortal evenings.

If truly love exists, it is the/his youthful amber drowning in the winds which poison reason and blossom faith for the once humbled/venal man.

How easily patience tremors any desire to eagerly besiege my adoration upon him; gladly I would endure torment if he graces my sea with tranquility only his dirge forbade

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