Most like to wipes it, is on some thing, <br />other than it's selve, sore thigh your yet <br />Instead it, is <br />it's blood upon you float, not touching. <br />It's stain is it, upon the air, around it. <br />When you, it's color changes, it <br />is, it's robes, gold then melts the heart <br />of quicksilver, this river to sun is run, <br />when tips of lead it knew, has Bloom's.<br /><br />Is It Poetry<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/when-love-lies-bleeding/
