Bezels enwreathe of the ellipsis
Tipped in the scales — a fit!
Lagrange was it?
apside a spindle of red herrings, barred—
A shelved meniscus, unweathered, the crux without leathering
Tuition, like a bolt of sleeves, imagineering unseen, Fourier freeze
And a berth solemn in the buoyant force—
Boutique, — a column beauty
—a girth, fasten to a girdle near,
A vestibular wit ethereal from overnight; eternal initial by the bristle shoots, tackles to dominoes,
Looms antiquated with the searing cosmos
Barry jumbled out of entropic pits from feathered ablation and air-deck fogs visceral
nouveaux windrows, and stewarded halos
— adieu, a journey fond, to and fro.
A monad dollying caricature of amor, diary to the lores when the vast is
Upper, open to the world.