The Shallows

Since the last nitrate rain, the wine wintered
lavish and  placid buffoons to orbit blueberries.

The lost  patrol whooshes in the superlative;
all guilty  fools  husk  a dead rosary.

Corner  syllabic mosaic,  toast  is gone
from all  leftovers  and gravity.

Here in this place, the shallows fascinate
I wait for butterflies  to pasteurize.

***
Hey all, here is day fifteen's poem. I started it last night, but then I got too involved with The Walking Dead and Fear the Walking Dead. Afterward, I dozed off. I always seem more tired when I go away for the weekend then when I stay home.

So yes, I do have to do another poem tonight.  Find more poets at NaPoWriMo