Aren't Words Apt?

Blue and battered falling… like leaves Aren't words apt; or hollow in feeling? When you're rummaging-depth of seaweeds, Drowning besides mermaids a merman ever sweetly. 'Won't you gather me in the wind? Take me to your lair'. Whispered a voice Bind me in your oaken shark-tailed limbs, I'll be your pagan Japanese lady there, I swear. Your midnight's raven with talons to tear! The one with black or golden, red, crimson hair. Blue and battered fallen… like those ill-begotten, leaves. Aren't words apt; hollow in feeling if you please? … When you're reeling in the shadows, Listening to these night owls, cries. With all seven senses departed for the wind My rare blue Akahana Japanese rose.