Crinkle cut carbuncle nectar drops;
trapping, in sapping amber,
an echo collated to completion.
Words dripped down around
distinct intersecting steeples;
cascading scales of crackling cackles could
wonder and wither away.
Carmine curiosities squeeze in
tandem toward narrow awnings; yearning
after some semblance of reality.
tulips rustled up simply
for the sake of
sound and feel.
by Erik Shinker