Some of my poems are easy to decipher this one I think it might be not.

Labyrinth of buoyancy

Marching heart stampeding to a halt no memories are at fault.

Intrepid with vivid ideas, blank is the solicitation on the canvas, anhydrous ink spilling in my well.

Step in time jiggle a gambol, motionless in the vacuum of fantastic fate.

Tendency in propitious, cascading with facades of ambiguity.

Dense is reality penetrating the bagatelle in the gravity of personality.

Contorted commonility rebuff with worn sheen, rust the dust is upon my unforeseen.

Heavy is the hive of woven time the epitome that trends chemistry in mystery.

Solid is the soft of untarnished consent to invent history.