Seems to me that good words have gone out of fashion.
That taste or emphasis on a certain word seems overused.

We colloquially bind ourselves with iron lashings,
to a Webster dictionary far abused.

I wish for redamancy in my books, euphonious words in my poems.

Chimerical words are what texting took.
and they stole away susurrus tones.

Who now is a raconteur?
What does aubade mean to you?

Amorphous words far and wide, yet we only use a few.
Caprice is what drives me to inscribe this verse, clinquant, I hope, are my words.

Desultory words are more than the change in my purse and as crepuscular as wings of birds.

Dulcet nouns fill my head and effervescent verbs my tongue.

Ineffably, the world spins is what my mother said.

If there is no one to love these ephemeral words,
I am happy to be the only one.