The Most Inescapable Desideratum
I will wait for your soft, curled vines,
The fake cascade causes tiny, unspecified water droplets to flow over it.
I will not wait for you to be a destined no man's land,
Nobody could allow you to be begotten by the tiny spikes.
I will wait for your buttery redemption,
With every penance, there is the rise of a new dawn.
Your sighs and sorrows are a tree full of grey leaves,
Except you, nobody can ever discern how thin the pinnacle of your chin is.
Is the river Life an overflowing drain to you?
Does the water flow like a train passing through narrow tunnels?
Is this river filled with empty sirens?
Or are they merely whispers in the language of our gurgles?
Nobody could define your silky cotton mood so well,
I misunderstood your appearance, as tattooed arms seem to be.
I want to rely on your ever-driven heart,
Just as a consummate river flows, bearing no dirt.
Is this river a phase?
Or is it just a stage?
You are the most inescapable desideratum to me,
And I am certainly conceded as an affluent hoarder.
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