Sonority

In the nascence of one’s polonaise, Always an unknown tune invades, unseen, unfelt: The sonority of a somber night-sonata, Inside a cold, dark tomb. Aleatory existence led by revolting wheels, Propinquity of flesh becomes insuperable; The horologist can’t cease the ticking. The tour de force of infinity-- I wonder why it couldn’t be a holding, exoteric. -Pin Dew (01/05/2017)

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Darren White

Date: 6/1/2017 3:07:00 AM

That's a deep one, resonating. I had to look up a few words (aleatory), am a non-native speaker :)

Pin Dew
Date: 6/1/2017 10:52:00 AM

Wow, thank you so much for showing such interest in my work. I am grateful. :)