Busy Writing, I Forgot About Love Poem by Anthony Edmond John

The cold of this weather.. Her warmth, cigarettes, rum.. The sunniest days saw us warmup to grape~vines and her wined toasts.. Transmuted holds.. In pure works of gold these sculpted moulds.. Soared reachness for words.. Somers richness of odes.. Towered picturesque of cyclones.. Torqued windy chill of thye typhoon.. Rejuvenating philosophy's school.. Reverberating three chords plus a five stringed bass's two.