Clasped Palms for Dislocating Steel

Don’t play with something moderately platonic-
If so, we’ll make it somewhat iconic-
More so, the cries are primarily catatonic-
If so, we’ll drip some purple-trimmed-tonic-
Quite so, this room screams chronic-sonic-
Tripped toes echo neck-jaw growls of something quite ironic-
Quite now, I think I’ll make a pact with something wonderfully entropic,
I don’t know, I may have slightly gone off topic.

Icky. I don’t enjoy quiet whispers from the lark.
Much more, the tears of pigeons are etched into the dark.
How so, can an embrace be so controlled?
When I’m empty handed, how is it you’re so bold?
Talk nonchalant through something falsely gold.
We’re just doing whatever we’ve been told.

So tell me more of love,
I’ve spoken with the dove,
Peace spat stuff of loath,
A beggar preached some from a trove.
Letting the man with a metal couch tell his hand,
That the child with a plastic bucket can’t build sand,
On their knees for the woman whose frown was glass,
Towards the lizard that decided to drown post-crass.

Tricky. I don’t enjoy quiet whispers from the lark.
Tears of pigeons with sleet-feet are etched into the dark.
Can an embrace really be all so controlled?

“When I’m empty handed, how is it you’re so polite(fully)-and-delightfully-and-so- frighteningly-and-insightfully-and-enlighten(ingly)-glamorous, and bold?”

I’ll reconsider whatever the old guy told me was bold.
I’ll stop spouting through something falsely sold.

Truth. Italics and love letters make a Romeo cry like winter winds shedding ash.
If you want a burger I can definitely promise you some cash.
But latent satisfaction through complacent attraction is a waiting-room exhibited by mold.
If you want we can go for a walk.
Ponder beyond the trash.
Don’t let your mind grow cold.
Let memory swarm warm with an honest crimson flash.