Pelting through, reaching terminal speeds, racing, I leave open gates, a bargain that later in comfort, misleads my soul with a fringe of pardon.
Racing I leave open gates, a bargain of passing fields, ochre gestures glove my soul with a fringe of pardon the beauty and violence of his love.
Of passing fields, ochre gestures, a blur of minutes, later a gentle loss of pressure the beauty and violence of his love presage coming sweats, and a pained cure.
Minutes later, a gentle loss of pressure pelting through, reaching terminal speeds, presage coming sweats, and a pained cure that later in comfort, misleads.