If
you knew me, would you love me? I ask, pruning a
thicket,
drinking vinegar. I’ve sorely wept, scraping hell,
only
to soar through abyss. Could you love me, ever privy,
mulling
over demons? I ask, ashamed to ask, tugging at
sullen
hearts. Every symbol’s a dream, a phantom’s soul,
cultic
in wavelengths. But I grieve, to live a façade, the best
of
thoughts. I speak not, freely unspoken, a portrait smile.
If
you knew me, would you love me: broken, mourning,
and
chiseling away at shadows? Of course, it’s ever your
love,
an opus texture, intoxicating stars. You see, and grip,
and
grip, and see. It lives surreal, to mine for treasures,
where
soul senses a black cloud. Every tinge, a bending
compass;
every change, a yielding miracle. I watch, a set of
swelling
eyes, ecstatic for love. Such reality, tearing into
life,
a treble bass. I hold you forever, a boundless love, as
sacral
as confirmation; for it was ever this soul, screaming in
terror,
searching for a photic voice.
