I’m
in twilight, ever to love you, a woman for stars. I venture
skylights,
to muse footlights, where a mural speaks. She
twinkles
verbs, to dance nouns, found in adjectives. I see for
eyes,
such apricot eyes, speaking in cherries. We dine, never
to
have feasted, to split a plum. I drift.
More
for ballads, sighted
ablaze,
to capture amore. I die for this art, to venture such allure,
to
paint a purple sea; and there, lost in clouds, a woman sighs,
“Death.”
I cringe, to arouse joy, painted in sky-blue. We chance
a
miracle, ever for clear, skating upon vows. I drift.
I
must to
glimpse,
forever a scroll, to sprinkle for glitter; for you die, to
scold
a world, to grip a haven; and life, a heart of pastels, a
forbidden
meadow. I’m startled, ever for love, surprised by love;
and
what for grays, to chisel content, to wrestle science. It’s a
must
for more, daring to soar, a riddled core. We rant so gently,
covered
in rage, spewing politics. It’s a daily read, an impish
slant,
to ink a palm. I drift.
I
hold you, ever a distance, where
thoughts
chant. We rock a wave, miles apart, stripping rooms.
Its
terror gray, to jaunt for love, a will to love.
