par avion!

her love as sweet as her lips.
her touch of a melting swift.

a story only I can tell,
though of one already failed.

failed!
not spoken from my own lips.
not hers, and I thank for this.

the green-eyed,
and sorrowed minds,
only feed on youth's only delicate time.

of the ninth decade of the eighteenth hundred,
she was the flower, the most subservient.

par avion!

my words mean no more than affection,
more than any given to the firstborn son.

I swear!
my love,
I only meant to care,
but time,
so cruel.

as age gives in,
you are meant for more of else,
not me,
not of my lame spirit,
not in this world,
not me.
I am meant for no one.

no one,
not a flower like you.

for this,
I only wish to depart,
leaving you safe.
delicate flower,
for it is all of yours to have.

Oh, how I do love freeflow/stream-of-consciousness writing. It seems much more natural and organic to me, but whenever I try to write it, it always sounds too processed. I'd be very interested in hearing what your intention with this was from the get-go .. if you had the end in mind, and the constructed the pieces in an attempt to get there, or if you just started typing and this little thing just popped out.

Thanks for posting this thing. (:

VV