Cardamom.

I wander as desultory, browsing until kingdom come,
abandoning the emerald castle; with it, her anthem.
I still have my speech, nestled in prose and stammer,
din in anxious clamor, her knight in shining armor?

"Sublime in silent sensation, you'd easily settle down, 
a tantrum awaiting dew, every sixth activity a noun;
then resound, with equal measure in stride,
like a bird in wintry clime, 'neath the shawl it hides."

What am I to make of that? in smithereens, I write,
shallow weaknesses, and a lack of erratic appetite.

"Now I'll clap you pretty, the wrinkles evince defeat,
her feet smother my skin, the rest of her entreats.
then a forgotten rendition, resonates through aching walls,
crumbling in caramel, and cemented in withdrawal."

The armies now fight the throne, an empire gets tense
swords lacerate the jewels, even ants in utter irrelevance;
for the quiet soul shall espy providence, in solitude, serenade,
red wine, cheese, and orchestra, therein a selfish parade.

So let simmer down, disembark, its a long ride to the South,
a battle's won, but the war has left, a bitter taste in her mouth.