Thru the mullion panes

A roundly dark space and not yet my musings spilt forth.

Why should lowly care grace us in that truest of hours,
as monochrome phantoms waft in hollow minds, bereft of
sweet idyll.

Would misted lust visit us? Fragmented and unforgiving,
tho' noble appear we, dressed blandly of the milk from which
kindness forsakes.

Crafted tatters swirl as leaves upon lively breeze
and ugly luck’s bitter curse did surely find order therein,
as, scent of yellow summer's richly jasmine,
did wind its meandering way to your prettiest of noses,
and did lay with you for 3 full years, for love of voice alone.

Thus, richest of stirrings and peculiar occurrences
in unspeakable places whereupon the foulest of reasons could dwell,
did lurk unlikely passions.

love's pantry may fashion the fondest of dishes yet,
yet, too, could be squeezed from hushed corners of the same,
the reaping of a hearty soul's disdain, as did it mine.

Flower, speak truly, of when buckled breeze built twisted bough!
If not by fortune, then pray tell how?
Will I not again enjoy ageless play in your summery garden should sweetest fancy take?
Your summery garden....where dalliances among vivid foliage brought much folly and high scream.

And! Did we laugh much in tickled pink