Eighty Six

Swallows dust your sisters, forget how to wrangle, those who miss the ship, your search for the free, hangs like an icicle, in songs of the wind, sometimes you kiss, my reclining bangles, in lost bitter promises, so close to the sea, stand and faces or handle, the sometimes night freeze, that makes you laugh guiltless, each line a shenanagle, at a new pointed Ithmus, will you write to me, come back and dandle, is it not to be, why do you insist, that kind of being single, what is there to miss, me on the shingle?