a study toward sonnet #1,169 by FisherKingKQJ
I'll go away from you, though fielding guilt-
There can dwell too much of a decent thing;
For sweetest sweetness I should else swing
A phoney illness, in your warm arms wilt.
I've had too much of your soft Swedish lilt,
My arms tire earlier in our arranged cling,
Our long kiss puffs my pout as if a sting,
My eyes ache, soaking up your slight head tilt.
I want to do you like uncut pure drugs,
And feel you marinate in my fine veins,
But some cold qualm at my old conscience tugs
As creation, not collapse in my heart reigns.
I'll go away from you, cool off, and come clean,
Yet thus you might misinterpret me mean.
(Chorus)
o $10,000,000 clean
o $10,000,000 sanitised
o $10,000,000 washed
[Autocube3 - for 3d interactive movies.]
SPADES DIAMONDS CLUBS HEARTS