[conniption]

A Dove, A Dove

I miss my glove
The gloss, the mull
Never in vogue,
Protected col,
Hold, please, my love.

I thought the sky,
Drank all a flask,
A tear, an eye,
Up in wind, mine
Numeral flies.

Skimming clouds in search,
Lost I am,
My glove seems to lurch
To far lands.

Solitude is found,
When at last,
I touch ground.