The corneas.

 I can not afford a blank canvas so I chose to write a poem
The muscles in my back, flexed and tensed and concentrated, so torrid and so driven
Amongst thunder clouds, that appease the soirée of a million different angles
An obtuse mind triangular in a mood that differs between squares and wrist coloured bangles.

The sun delved into the curators creators craters
So deep, even I, struggled to breath within its depth of the subjugated
Mass, a passing forgiveness if the moon that heaped a cause survived
We did a triple dodge of a serve, and we were rewarded with what we deserved

My pretty stranger,  you filled my thoughts with a reason to remind me of why I cried
A million times ten, I just can't make the clay potters wheels brain delve into the egg that fried
Through the haze, through the mist, on the mountains pupils corneas
A cornucopia of insanity, try, please, in a part of my apology.

Sorry, I did not mean to be gray on black on white and red and devilish to the pure
Complicated I understand an answer to my question so insane upon the obscure
I'm trying to squeeze the essence of a billion trials and anguish
You told me about the thousand year old antiques, the long intrepid words we dish

Out. On cave paintings with red splattered hands
In the caustic representation, the delivered grains of sands
A question to ask, to forgive and forget
We played a thourough tune of sensetiveiness that we sought to regret.