Chapter 2 - Between Sundays cinders and mondays Promise

Ron Koppelberger[br]
Between Sunday Cinders and Mondays Promise[br]

The obligation to concoct the cold bones of ancient courage and gossiping romance was a trespass gushing renown in the division of Sunday cinders and Monday proclamation. She found the drama in Monday dawn to be the best, a courtesy of sensitive revival; revolutions in shining sips of wine and glossy rainwater rinse. She chanted and weighed the ballast of fire on twilight passions and Sunday shores of summit, the leaping celebration, sin unto virgin intuitions of alabaster and pointed regard. [br]
Reborn on Mondays charity, reflections of a new performance, a new find, tangled in Tuesday and what remains. A week of upheld evidence, an assembly of fall caution and winter tears ripe with the expectation of spring blood and summer sash. [br]
She gasped and sang her belief, her crown of neat rose vine and perfumed struggle. She whispered the final verse from prudent assays of feasting fountain fervor and gentle exchange, Saffron and amber, ideas and dandelion dander, Ill find the summons to unplanned dominion and rare love, my innocent love on Monday. [br]
She affirmed the pact between then and now, between Sunday in desolate swells and the virgin[br]
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expectation of enduring Monday slaked in warm rain and sunshine spirit, love and ethereal[br]
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bones of measured direction. Adorned as she was in the new day. [br]

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