It’s
morning, love. I’m fresh for a ritual, awestruck, wiping
tears.
A candle burns, a reed speaks—such rhapsody. I’m
near
a heart, pondering something chaste, quilted in diamonds.
It’s
easy, love, to count your soul, as radical as love. I see
you
in moments, a living tent, an upcoming novel. So
research,
love. Become an opus, a mystic nib, a parasol for
souls.
It’s fast moving, to catch a tear, smiling through a
storm.
Such prestige, to seal a pit, and walk a friend. I love
you
come darkness, ever this life, captured in a photograph.
Our
hearts, a gallery of trinkets, a fever of night-waves. I feel
you,
sorting through dreams, affected by reality. It was ever
our
souls, constructing life, where we yearn to see. Reach a
skylight,
love. Croon a seraph. This is our days, a bucket of
differences,
a sea of similarities. How to atone, tugging clouds,
staring
at mirrors? I live it in a forest, conversing jaguars,
pulling
at owls. It’s a miracle, love, to ever bear witness, to feel
mystic
hands. Through it all, nurse a passion, live an anthem.
