Mental Liaison

How to understand distance and closeness: pain, struggle

and joy? I remember sorrow’s grace, where love overwhelmed

anger, but burdens strangled vision. It was such aesthetic to

witness a model’s gait: manicured hands; pedicured toes; soft

powder; and luxurious hair and suit. I palmed anguish, afraid

to speak, nearly alive; and never alike a tender gentleness, and

ever aloof a tender isolation. Something, maybe confidence,

repulsed a shy maiden, where humble strife appeared joyous,

and vat to soul appeared righteous. I fret in memory elitist

souls—to ponder injustice, where haughtiness screams, “You

need me.” How is this righteous; and why would a soul fish for

such a soul? for love is fragrant, where flagrant sorrow speaks

to wisdom, and bulbous mist speaks to innocence and confusion.

Thus a letter; and thus a prose; when it was struggle to

reappear; but oh a pull, tugging at a psyche, concerned with self,

desperate to inflate a fading image. So portraits vanished, and

names were changed, when it was death permeating love.