Whilom.

Your feet fend off the unassuming parget,
and the wall seem'd to be sane again.
And I slept by a bouquet, so full,
of flowers that tast'd innocence.
The feet now were at distance from me,
with the sober, dark rum an inch away.
while you still made no more attempt,
to make happenings seem whole again.
But sometimes, things are unkind, like,
in mellow, gloom, sand, and sunshine.
For they further embrace life the way
its only done for hope we both did pine.
And in these finally tense seconds,
your terse throat regains style while,
the feet adjust, garrote rum to the floor
and only leave unparched, the marble tiles.