Love & Bond

She’s an essayist: bending rainbows, altering consciousness.

Her sister’s a therapist: picking safes, extracting riches. I

feel such a tug: abandoned to the mystics, screaming—a

fractured lung. How to love effacement: broken for light,

nearly ruptured—ever to welcome pain. It’s something

normal: a gentleman’s friend: a woman’s ambition; for we

love platonic love, ever to cherish a soul: big eyed and

vulnerable—peering into psyches. I love her like a daughter:

lost for words, scraping emotion, quasi-demented. Yes;

pure simile, as opposed to fact; where love tap-dances—a

flickering light-bulb. I watch, freely affected, and gods

surge through life and soul, plainly intoxicated. My friend,

a locomotive, even a flickering fuse, tap-gliding upon

frequencies. I grip a wrist, pass a glass, and vow to break the

darkness. She stares unto tears, and utters: “Vow not such a

vow.” I buckle—somewhere a soul, desperate to enforce.