[indent][color=silver]. . . 𝓨[i]es, I suppose I grabbed,[/i]

				𝓐[i]t Spring. 𝓐nd you set your hopes much too high. . .[/i]
[/color][/indent]

	𝓛ady Alyssana's manners were impeccable. He wished sometimes to hang them upon the sky, but alas, that was too much, just like her crystal attitude being clean to a fault. She wore it as some sort of fresh fragrance that he really had no time to cusp on his cheeks for comfort post his afternoon shave. He admired this about her. There were other women he knew who treated his servants with dignity and respect, and to single her out would be too easy. He understood far too well for her to not be an easy woman.  She deserved more than some imaginary flight of words that made up florally lines of poetry. She deserved the truth.

	Ah, but the truth was much too hard to say, and when the right words formed for him to say it, the time was not quite right. He knew this far too well, as well. It haunted him his whole life. It was something like staring through a glass fixture. His boyish nature eventually admitted defeat with the other more easily attainable ones.

	He watched as Lady Alysanna was moving through his manor, speaking to his servant. She already owned the place. She commanded herself with a gentle nature, “Thank you, Franklin,” he assured the man with a smile. It was quiet and sharp, but there hinted some tinge of jealousy underneath the feeling even if the servant operated in a more clumsy manner, “Ah!” he echoed out of some hollow version of himself, “It appears as if we are onto something, what good luck we are having,” his arm gently cusped Lady Alyssana's outfit, guiding a small nudge as a couple would when sharing a dance. The moment was brief like and left with a bitterness, he knew he would wear for the rest of the afternoon, “What discovery do you think we should make of this?”

[center][color=silver][i]Drawing his arm, again, it entered back into the measure,
guessing back into pricking 
a word -- a date -- anything marked by a printing press
with the tip of his finger.[/i][/color]

[color=teal][i]Just a prick of the hem . . .
					. . . For the ages.[/i][/color][/center]


			[center][color=silver]. . . 𝓘 [i]set my love upon you much too high.[/i]

					𝓐[i]nd in the sky arranged my burial. . . .[/i][/color][/center]