I’ve
been want to shower, something heavy in love, crashing
upon
a seashore; and there you stand, pointing at wounds. I
fall,
to grip sand, while you disappear. It’s excruciating, a
sage’s
stamp, ever to lose. I twist and turn, to churn a symbol,
a
vehicle of vice. You appear, fraught with anguish, an
immortal
body. We dance gently, palm to palm, filled with
energy.
I see glory, ever to tease, to war a stomach. Indeed,
I
vomit, where love disappears. What is theory—to fly a soul,
harnessed
in religion. We die, to rise immortal, subject to
pains.
This is weblock, a death museum, where you appear.
I
claw a sea, to crash upon waves, wailing to my goodbyes.
Utter
the words, a season of love, where tomorrow is gentle.
Else
to perish, a touchstone travesty, measured in weeds. I’m
soon
to crawl, where you appear, mourning a fractured soul.
We
love, to part hearts, forever in a breeze. I’m sore affected,
planting
tulips, an axe to bark. Midnight is passion, a web of
syllables,
to see you appear. I’m want to feel, a small invasion,
resting
at my doorpost. We must depart, for stars are calling,
a
feyic doctrine; but love is born, a mystic theology.
