Day 2: A capture

A desert greet, your visage, my eyes flame to sleet, yet tidings mercy, your head, my hand back greet fame, you have soldered an entrance in rememberances tame, yet show no greetings on a track a name ripped seek, yet you walked from my vessel, with a shadow to creek, and now my hand caught, in rememberances visions tide wept, I will hold your head, tilted, my eyes shadows speak.

So, old man, who are you, and what have we here? A desert your walk, in a portal said speak, and an animal or taming, on your leg to beat? Show me your eyes, old man, to speak, or I will tilt the head in eyes glittering my feat, and see within your mask of shame, my knees are gripped you see, with a claim?

come, your eyes, now speak, my vision confrontation tame claim, you drifted your hand downward, my hand gripped insane your head tame. Come tilt your neck, in this corridor light fight, not in shame of my knees, in your grip slighted net sight?

Come, do not fear, my grip hid night, I wish to know this entrance, hid slight, to walk away from me, in a night hid war, in rememberances tore, of light hid greet, and eyes, sweltering with wisdom seek, and a cane so old, gripped to tell, your eyes and missions in greetings swell?

I will tilt your face, again with a grain, your eyes, your withdraw, to the fire tilted claim, and who are you, on visions coffin sort greet, a favour from another, or a passing being eternity guide speak?

I will note the orifice of you eyes held tame, yet your vision, is lukewarm, and withered grip flame. I have the vision procured light tender crop wide net, show me why you have visited this vessel tailored wept night cane?

– Greetings, your hand still motioned – you do not need to wither your eyes in greetings hid knocked slam, my eyes are not greetings for your soul to wither on a cane my guidance old hid night, yet solder your eyes, on an angel chuckle slight, he can see the guidance my old age, midnight captured tell, and a depth to confront you again, with a hold, I like this desert, but your vision foretold, has gripped my eyes grip night, to your hold slipped tight. What have thee, I have nothing but knees tilted walk cold, and a hound, in abandonment of a desert, sands reaped word, and nothing of greetings to this mission, held cane, a foot in abandonment, is a sliver to fame, but nothing of wars, to tilted hands tore, cold sore, could separate a child, with a guidance a cane rock old, to slam in a seed, to eternity gripped night, how old is my war, to shadow, a hold cane slip light, to a cane of a child, with ignorant experiment tilted right. You do not shame, me in kind remorse to hold, to sever a grip of your vessel, to guidance wars gripped eternity guidance sold, but if you tilt your cane to a nomad’s rock, what guidance have you for me, but sleep to chop? Your cane is banished in war so old, that guidance is not one, but beatings trappings we should have warned. Yet, somehow your request, to a seed, lit night, wanting something in patience, to a greetings slid right, then patience flown trap, your anger lit cane, the downtrip in anger, to my beatings guidance lit sane, and what have you but guidance in eternities grasp, but nothing of yours, to one can hid trap, of my old age comfort, of a hound hid gap. You think your war, is abandoned greet slam, to hold in recknonings, to proof lit exam, but you do not know guidance, reaped, footing slim tight, to guidance one being, to two hands reaped tight? Guidance is not flown, with eyes slid war, they are sold with tongues, weighted heavy with tore, and greetings hid eyes, hid night tender crop, would find a chuckle hid on an angel lit eyes top, to shelter my being, in desert extreme lit kite, to hand you a morcel of my guidance rock slight, and shower you with greetings in my wisdom so old, to shelter a forewarned greetings to visions sleep nap, and come, offer in eternity, this lighting hid fame, you see the furnace in my hound slept tame, and a shuffle to come and hands extend warmth greet, just sit down beside him, and I’ll prepare a feast fame treat. And rub the dog, so hard with light, his eyes, will shiver, with a new hand treat fame, that a shuffle and a smell, of his fur treat cane, will give you an entrance, of a lover fame tame. Come, I will prepare, a coffin rid sleep, a kettle in comfort, of a burning knowledge knowing sleep feat, and come the comfort boiling in sight tame rid night, I can give you a handle, to a burning embers greet sight. What gift have I, but a kettle with glow, to pour a pedestal of light, in a treatings night sow, and offer a sip in continued motion lit fame, to lift the ears, to a greetings a story I will sight fame tame.

Oh, come old man, guidance is not so lofty, wear, a smile with few teeth would glare, but this is not you, in temperance reknew, my hand never budged, from the sight tore lit, just you.