Green and orange shallow,
but withstanding facts the matter drew,
up in a million angles where angels rebel.
Riot seeming diversion clamps,
these eyes growing under.
Who am I roving?
And is my daring delicious?
We turn lithe and accelerate
distantly, evasive heat charring
the tips of fingers.
So much sweat. So much sweet.
Given up to luscious storms
and swell gracious. Silken
embers dry our harmony.
-r. miller
*Insert Propaganda Here* 