Coy tidings spoke in riddles,
line modesty with zeal.
Verve with the gait of a seraph.
Pacing through this minute foyer,
flushed with the dregs of descent.
Ecstasy asphyxiating lungs of accolade.
The schism provoking ersatz exasperation,
with proclivity shrouding your guise.
Buried with voracity.
About Me
- Henry McCrory
- I'm Henry, and this is my blog. I made this to get some of my writing out there, and get some serious feedback about it.
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