Terrace Shoulder

Terrace Shoulder
In a poem, it is okay to take this freedom a lot with rhyme and meter?

I remember our farewell evening in the blue boat. Reflections of the red waves hair, cobalt A storm came on. I put my hand on his shoulder, and my arm over her chair. Oysters and Chablis brought two And we laughed happily, watching the skilled open shells with his butler kris figurative door open to ruin lee, rolling on red meat and lemon sauce and deliver them to us. With a ritual of throwing debris in the ocean. At night we sat in silence in the room and then walked on the terrace over the water, silent in the darkness of lavender, listening to the distant laughter, Looking lights lit "dorys eelers, marking their places near the coast. You said:" They are closing the morning classes, and was closing the door on my hopes I heard a single word: "tomorrow", I was not ready.

Of course that's why they call it "poetic license"


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