Crown Of Roses

Love exudes a sticky pinesap; it extolls- a resin that'll encapsulate your soul love is a bee in a red hibiscus flower. Drunkenly, sings maybe this is my final hour. Love is a savant, all-knowing, unexplained his amber unfastens songs still refrained stops the sun and the moon spinning on their axis; banishes all space and time, anything too factious love is a mantra, nothing Faux pas a mantra my child shall-I-promise-you alas. It's neither a beginning nor an end as such. So, rose gardener Lord, feed me, mulch me until then, let me dance in the dew-soaked through, then lock me away in a rosary of mysteries with you.