It’s
a tender web, to be caught in tentacles, to utter, “I love you.” I uttered such
a cry, partly crushed, to give evermore. Waterfalls fell fervor, formed in
triangles, to vie for love. Was it us, strewn asunder, clawing through
passions. We war for something captured; a palm of paint, splattered on a
canvas. This is rapture, to kiss eyebrows, fingers laced in lust; and this is
venture, a sense of soreness. We relish in this love, oblivious to strangers,
lost in our affair. What are such sentiments, a human’s medallion, ever to be
treasured? Did a voice raise, trapped in trance, and terrified to feel? It’s a
manuscript, a woman’s zeal, even a seastar—to grant a wish. I love you becomes
a halo, despite activity, an unphysical longing. I hear you, speaking politics,
a picture in motion, an atom split with passions. I cry your cries, fully in
debt, even baseborn. Tell it to stars, two fanes entwined; an ecstatic stream.
I reach for love, where love is angry, graven with hostilities. We clash,
washed in fever, to love a tad exhausted. Anger returns, a callous man, a
cloven ego. You remind me of life, a moment called touché, to harness a fragment of love. We wrestle, to utter
apologies, to meditate gravity. I love you becomes a missile, beating—a mystic
heart, challenged to stay alive. Such nectar, a beaming star, a mother’s
splendor. It’s our ember, an inrush of chi, a father’s symbol. So never unveil,
my love; where ecstasy settles, ever to silence intuition. Rather remain,
remain a mystery, a feyic opera, an unending summit.
