I
hear silence in silence, and see faces in silence. How have
you
gotten here? We converse absent of bodies, fallin’ into
a
vortex, streaming emptiness. I’m slow to make a vow,
and
promises scorn favor, longing between nights. But we
converse,
dreaming the arête, and mourning such
restrictions.
We want more of what more has to offer,
deeply
affected. I love you seems premature, conversing
with
an image. Is reality real or pure illusion sliced with
fiction?
It’s quite unreal, founded in reality, where no is
repeated
constantly. I draw from you, unaware of you,
peering
into a nature. It’s quite abstruse, difficult to fathom,
kneaded
in intuition. How have you gotten here, where chi
explodes,
fallin’ from the air? It’s something tragic and
iridescent,
riven by personality. I love you seems premature,
conversing
with an image. We’re running, dashing through
a
forest, cleaving to conceptions, haptic in our psyches.
