Forever,
my love; a fire to fly, captured by science; as too
a
human factor, lost for days, ever to return. We love a
fever,
as cold as feelings, warm for feelings. We kindle
lightning,
for passion tender, a relic for egress. Do return,
to
shear a sheep, carving oak. Shall I whine, even complain,
to
play for guilt? I ask, fully aloof, as raw as said fever.
We
live it torn, ever alive, and pulling back. What for love,
a
sacred bond, blinded by radiance; and ever to ask, “Am
I
distant—to—pierce, my love.” We vie—ever for favor,
and
hypnotized; and what for science, an art for science,
removed
from science? So live it love, for love to live, an
idyllic
love. I paint it fey, a bolt of thunder, to wander
vineyards;
and motion breathes, to lack a hormone,
screaming,
“I love you.” Such are thoughts, to trigger
worth,
a symbol made lively. I nurture you, a life for more,
spinning
security. We waltz for love, to capture intuition,
a
heart beaming. We glide, a sail for warmth, skiing
through
mansions. I love you more, dearly impassioned,
to
rescue science.
