The Gulf in the Sea of Key

Tuscany shades and hues, thatched roof, dry
in a field that's whiskey clear;

pretentious are all my docile minutes
whose very moments l do fear.

Spreckled, twisted awnings gleam
so wildly beautiful to my eye;

the withered truth is replicated
'til it clearly tells a lie.

Afterwards, pressed coats and cardigans
become outfits in many ways;

they'll be lined-up and seen in the fog
just to clarify it's not a haze.

Semi-rusty lemon drops
stretch my pockets to the "full";

with a blatent sky so sea-worthy
it can honor every gull.

The churned up tide invests it's time
to wreak havoc with the sea;

tediously altering the smitten shore
and it's all played in the sea of key.