Such
fiery flame, to sear a soul, as gentle as kittens. I see it in
volume,
a tender heart, flushed with courage. Every notion, a
pearl,
to flourish through roots. I weep to hear a name, a
whiff
of perfume, a scent of jasmine. Years have won refusal,
a
bark made of oak, an atom of love. Something so benign,
is
now a poison, to rupture on impact. But ever a glint, a
booklet
of smiles, crowned in private. It’s pure ambivalence,
to
act a part, filled with salty waters. I’m dizzy to feel, to
whisper
softly, gazing at a mirror; for only an artist, to
suffer
heart, climbing something invisible. But every wound,
a
chapel of diamonds, a spiritual filter. So I chase, ever to
speak,
fashioned from a distance. This is art, a bashful night,
as
bold as death; for so many valleys, a feeling cold, to
strike
a fortune. I touch it vaguely, to forbid myself, ever to
tamper
with danger. But how to see, where life separates, lost
in
poetic madness? It’s truly a monster, an endless signal,
pointing
to escape. So catch us running, fully breathless, a
countless measure.
