A
mental melee is afoot, a swarm of demons, etching something graphic. I
stargaze, ever to escape, but more a mute gesture; for life is near, a trough
of realities, haunting a part-time peace. Such rain is royalty, affected in
waves, to cull a moment’s joy. I’m soon to drift, to fall to cobwebs, an opus
of a woman’s aura; for such is splendor, a whisper soft, where eye contact
implodes.
I hold her, as only a fantast, privy to a hard won innocence. It’s painted toenails, glossy fingertips, ever something to enchant. It’s brilliant mane, a
flowing gait, even manicured eyebrows. I’m lost to return, to wrestle chaos, to
weep as spirits wept. Something’s eager, a vault of cries, trekking upstream.
So many currents, where downstream is rocky, a world of gravid
realities.
So to dig, stroke for stroke, aiming for a small cave. It’s carved with
markings, an ancient language, depicted in lines. I’m soon to drift, to channel
love, born afire. Her scent is flowers, a touch of wild barks, as cultic as
orgasms. Our words are unspent, a garden of love-cries. We gaze afar, ever to
draw near, a wealth of flirtations. Our outlet, to perish boldly, more
to
love, a rhythm sewn; else to live, a dying fuse, fraught with days, mourning
blues. I’m lost to return, to summons courage, staring at a verdant river. Such
was laughter, to sprinkle joy, fraught with a sullen wind; but oh a love, to
harness woe, a touch of sighs. It’s something soft to warm a heart, a sudden
pause, even a smile. When burning, all is perfection, even a trinket labeled
kitsch.
I fall asleep, to witness love, a migraine soon to disappear. She shadows love,
a topaz
heart,
nurturing a threshold. I raise azure, to yank a cloud, busy to count petals. We
gallop love, to war a maze, a cascade of passions; such to twinkle, a living
star, steadfast in disposition. So twilight whispers, forbidden words, captured
in a psyche.
