Honey Chopped ✅

I have a love
for pure,
sentimentally demure

The remit to see
after it,

to hear
in sounding
of waves

a collusion,
a solicitous infusion

gullible pans
the carcass
of my faith.

As when eerie,]
squirm insoluble

chide monstrous
prey to madness.

Faithless fodder
in holy spells
of wack a mole hell.

And I can't stop it,
horror chases me down,
lose it lose it

Throw the damn board
oh happy dagger,

Then in count
from seven to ten
resumes again

as an irrepressible grace
tarrying, betide

trailing edges
for kisses
and misses,

sanguine or shred. Goes
straight to my head.

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