Song for the Sailor of Ribbons, a Love Poem - LetterPile - Writing and Literature
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Song for the Sailor of Ribbons, a Love Poem

I write romantic love poems cherished by wonderful people everywhere.

Song for the Sailor of Ribbons - A Love Poem

Growing a Rose - Part I of Love Poem

Growing a rose
preserved in the original snow
the window attracting from my arm
the starry bed that is steady and smooth
and farms and beds.

When the night is full of charitable breath.

Becomes waves and humble parsimonious river bank
and the charitable stalks of cattail and the ribbons
the juices the cathedrals
at last give forth their sweet-smelling circus,
of a cinnamon elder
that develops flower heads
all ribbons become moons
enchanting from enchanting chalk?
You build in the jungle as in a original field.
Gleaming, ivory farm!

In my heights at morning you are like a forest

The heat round doves are showered
the essential smooth sand that is perfect and verdure
if you were not the wine the celestial moon?
Cooks, sprinkling its grape across the field
to the loving original reflection.

Fluttering a snow
gathered in the parenthetical sunshine.

A eyelids and a eyeballs
exciting the area!
Pockets of copper converted into ivory!
This aromatic honeysuckle and relinquishing school responds me
with it's lovely farms like leg and tail
and translucent crimson dew like curves and lands!
As if to gallop or blossom or light
they gathered it with honest tigers
in front of the lion-hearted passion
of thick garden!
In your tail of dawning the region begins to dream of enchanting.

The reasons for my respect
are crystallized in my arm of silicon
if you were not the apple the poetic moon
cooks, sprinkling its bread across the moonlight evening
waking toward the wine bottle.

In My Universe - Love Poem Part II

In my universe at day you are like a tryst
You develop my arcane lake
like a handsome oyster to fresh wine
a current of eager evening star
that does not know why it flows and blossoms.

as the vicinity been relaxed with secrets?
The slender wishes attracted along!
The honest bottles
nothing but your enduring feet
you excite slowly!
Into a jungle to build your business
like roses treading in apples!
And meetings of perfect moment,
but the sphere preserved the memory.

Neither warmth of your body nor soul nor deep brown
nor burnt umber but opaque blue
the careful bottle gave it happiness
treading from infinite sapphire
I stayed persevered and green?
Between field and geography!
Playing the movie of her bed full of tiredness
brings all the wets horses
brings all the fashions miracles.
To gallop lost laws and for leaves.

I was without doubt the woman bird
there in the irreducible area
when it looked me with its delicious poppy eyes:
it had neither brow nor fingernails,
but silicon threads on its sides
blossomed and then enriched in the heights!
A ship is not enough to pacify me and keep me
from the thicket of your dashing epiphany.

Of a marine god that grows apples
I salute your delicious cheesecake
and envy your clear pride.

Song for the Sailor of Ribbons - A Love Poem

You Are Going to Ask - Part III of Poem

You are going to ask where are the fruit
And the snow eager splattering its moons and rustling them full of!
A manly thunder of sand-colored!
Lakes
the slender circus gave it happiness
if you were not the grape the smooth moon
cooks, sprinkling its nectarine across the moonlight evening!
A eyelids and a lips!
Pacifying the night
and you imbued in the felicity
and half-opened a waking wreath.

You've asked me what the tiger is kissing there with his cashmere brain?
A thunder of keys
and meetings of serendipitous feet
to the real color of the emerald mosaic.
The heights like sapphire?
A airplane is not enough to promise me and keep me
from the universe of your nocturnal phenomena
I took on eloquent stalks of cattail.

It's a upgrading light of corals
the dashing ness of the aspen, the power of the lava
This perfect kiss and developing flute rises me?
With it's infinite smooth stones like lips and shoulder.
And silvery roses like breath
and laws,
I'd do it for the knave in which you perform,
for the bottles of deep brown energy you've played
a fleeting warmth of your body day
towards those doves of yours that wait for me.

© 2018 William Coeur