talking of the extremeties [but more inclined to the purplish horizon]


and yet again
it was graying allover
a blanket woven
from the skies
and mountains
and deep meloncholic
stares of listless hearts
when they came:
drizzling metallic
clapters in a row,
did they swoon
out of the glooms,
the reds were reds
blues were blues

oh but when
would be
the unparalleled
purplish fusion
bloom out
of monotony:
passion pitched
high until your
boundless turf


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