We
were pensive, and
ever
soul-quakes to rival gravity.
It
was opera; and more an aria;
and
more a ballad. We
shifted
poetry,
to war a harpoon,
adrift
an orb. I was barefaced
for
love, to nestle a songbird,
as
fulgent as a first kiss. We
performed,
to court for gravity,
as
pensive as soul-quakes.
I
held a soul, to perish an opera;
and
more an aria. Such
was
splendor, a set of whetstones,
and
purple tears. Such
feral
eyes, and saintly cries, to
wade
through gemstones.
It
was
dreamlike, ever to stargaze,
and
kayak affections; and
more
for poetry;
and
more
for
meter;
and
more for
staggering.
I
couldn’t discern the ways
of
love;
but ever star-lit, a
seismic
love, a ball of frenzy.
We
lived it through, to pose
as
koans, as feral as wild jaguars.
I
dreamt of love, as
florid
as carnivals, as rich as
nectar;
and there afar—a
dream
for breath,
the
kernel of joy. It brewed for
thunder,
and
wild vines, and treasured
groves.
We knew for
selfhood,
as sublime as midnight,
a
fusion of fruits.
