Breaking the sea through my eyes,

In my stripy highs, 

In my sloppy lows,

Has been air, here; 

At its kiss with moisture,

In its glows,

For all the care of my hair and ear,

As a Seer in a spear,

While those gems, as an actuator,

Run down their poles,

Like consoles enrolled in goaled oleos. 

I hope they do not think it as easy,

In this queasy sleazy,

Upon the parallels open

In their trickles down,

Hot or cold,

Which air tours to reopen.

One thing is sure for towns around the crown,

Their parents — emotion and reason will be downe,

To keep their throne tall and city of gold a fold,

Till air within bids them good bye, unwopen,

To leave them unbroken.

When this happens, 

Like chances to candles in glasses,

I wonder,

“Will the three tiers of time do the same 

in its holding fort 

Within my kernel’s sunder?

In this aim, I acclaim to ame 

In the vessel of this dame of flame’s frame,

Made forte in celestial exhort,

in little and great things of bunker?” 

When the sea through my eyes surfs in shutter,

As my wrists' fleshy extensions 

Dismiss them to intervene me from my apprehensions.