Saturday, August 1, 2015

Angel

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.  

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