Ex-lovers seeming almost a pointed theme now I'm on my second such chosen number, alas that iambic is given a wink and tossed out the window, leaving flow an arbitrary thing and nonexistant the whiles we stumble through the wreckage from five months earlier and mull a prettier closure than simply tossing all vestiges. The metre forced in numerous instances, tis simpler then to lose oneself in the situation unfolding rather than attempting a proper critique of craft.
Ah, golden silence.
I enjoyed the images decking out this stanza and lingering thought of whither in the happy face of peace. Sheesh, at that rate I want to quip "thanks for sharing."
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