I’m
wrung dry, love. Seasons have tormented soul. I gaze upon walls, to push a
dream, to morph reality. I storm to lilt, a fragile peace. Wring a rose, my
love. Feel for gloom, through melting spots. Gilt for rain, to wilt a scar, a
quilt for tears. I’m shrouded to flee a mirror’s pain. Love is mystic, a silent
cry, where we ask, “Will you love me?” How to breathe, through such a request,
neatly to stagger? I speak, more for love, to receive love, to stagger for
love. Haven’t you heard, I’m lost for love, afraid of love, outstripped by
love. Fill a quiver, to draw an arrow, to pierce a love. We need for soul, a
song for souls, to unmask souls; for souls perish, to mangle souls, epic souls.
Here’s an oath, a dell for oath, a psalmic oath: Spirit loves.
Its
numen waves to flush a mind, a purple sea, a totem of waves. We’re timeless, to
roam through time. I disappear to reappear longing through nautic winds. We’re
endless for omega yearning for an alpha. I’m frantic for this space, a habit
for grace, reading into an antic. There you are, to quell abyss, a ferric hell.
We’re tearing fibers, to reach a cage. I’m pulling kites, to see a flip,
sanding an oaken trestle. It’s art a life where every twinge ushers design.
It’s love a cave to tug upon language. I move you more to let love breathe, a
song, a gong, a gray insight. Ever this grace to color a soul, to pierce for
prose; for wealth a thetic flame, a twine of jute, knitting poetry. I love it
this ache to mourn this kiss to stumble for life your lap.
