The physiognomy of my
thoughts
have blended
with the
             sapphire             powder of this canvas, a crown of goldenrods and Percy's      fever         infused           into
                     an effervescence          of             equilibrium           to       create
        this                  aneroid             of
perplexity,
oozing with
bittersweet
               molasses
squeezed by the hands of the wicked,
framed by their
exploitation of my wits
and the way these pages
have flicked from
unambiguous to a blur
of margarine and corn flour            into       this       bowel           of
              supernovatic            equinoxes dipped in molten
silver;
and as I
taste
these
sinister
mishaps         so delicately
      weaved by       intricate
  designs              of crumbled
faiths             unto         my           roséed       tongue       identical
                    to the       ones        shared      by      these
        alabasters         and           onyxes and browns,
I
am overtaken by
an idyllic zeal
haunting             these         spilt        crevices           of my insides,
expelling from my
grape      stained    lips in
such daunting fashion,       hovering over       this       paradoxical
                           catastrophe that shapes this
crescendo of an ellipse,
leaving the wrath of
a thousand
calamities
dancing over
the breadth of my head and weaving through the strands of my
long mane of bouncing black,
descending upon
me like hail in Australia's cluttered hemisphere veiled by this binary star
of gouged laughter,
          and raining             down         with a virtue
     so                mistakenly                   sucrée
               that      I am       transfixed
  and               my eyes             are now         fishes
     drowning          in the salt of an ocean much too deep for me to swim.