Passioned filibuster; time held by love,
and space dropped into an atom in which,
length, width and height flatten; push comes to shove,
and smite comes to have heart — its beat does itch:
So scratchy, flagrant, fragrance fills the air;
you can feel, taste, touch it with head and heart
I smell it so deeply — the air is so fair
Take whiff of this pumpkin, rip it apart:
Taste, touch, smell might be the same, if you score,
or when the magic of vision comes true —
"I'm not living with strangers anymore" —
or when you hear the beatdown, deeply, blue:
And we all ride home, we all sail away;
I write to pass time, hear to pass away.
urbansonnets 