Mofoo Dofoo

Composed while weeping bitterly over the end of another season. Rumors fly that the final season of GoT won't be on the air until 2019. That's much too long to wait for the latest news from Westeros. You know nothing, Jon Snow!

Some elements sourced from the Game of Thrones Wiki. Others sourced entirely from my imagination.

Some Sanguine Magnify
...an ode to Game of Thrones

Sometimes a piece of the earth
rustles like a bed in my breath.

The water wide corals are rustled
of affluent wine, spirit!
rustled god blood, your kisses
wet into exile
and a droplet of silk, with remnants of the sea
blush on the poppies that wait for you
relaxing the hidden chairs, exciting the doors.

Marine and parenthetical elder
I saw how corals are blushed!
By the resolute honeysuckle,
stored and then responded in the archipeligos.

Your guitar is a poppy filled with velvety echo
brings all the magnifies doves
went entertained in jar
within deep brown water and opaque blue lands
and the forest to its sea's skin?
And among the poppies the full one.
The goddess covered with changeless pullulations.
This human home and pulsing starry sky rises me?
With it's comfortable bottles like ears and ears
and crimson candles like breath
and rituals
to seek another land.

You say, what is the dove waiting for in its transluscent deep brown planetarium?
I tell you it is waiting for sea's skin like you?
A drizzle of mirrors.
You appreciate my infinite propellers
like a wide tiger to fresh sugar.

A hips and a curves
entertaining the jungle
my heart moves from being absorbant to being essential.

ashmire and celestial sailor,
like incredulous diamond architecture : veins,
the hopeful mist that reflects in your lighthouse
This slender eddy and upgrading wreath imbues me
with it's nocturnal moons like brain and arm
and yellow droplets like nose and railroad tracks!
A parenthetical sunshine
of corals
Everything plumed with equinoctial voices, the salt of mist
piles of plumed bread
you crystallize my trusting elixir
like a poetic pheasant to fresh bread
I could enchant snow, bed, and coat!
From beds and lands
with a green door.
With drops in my arm!
Nothing but that maternity of branches
the wind lyrical wells are developed
went preserved in silence
to build lost bird feathers and for railroad tracks.