I’m
firebrand, storming a tornado: her eyes fire-brown.
I’m pathos, longing for ethos, surfing with logos. We
make
it love, a luminous grave, to sprout a rose. It
was
ever a color, and keystone rites, to pillage a soul.
I
saw for sanity, a lake afar, to harness words. We
gentle
this stream—of keystone pains, grieving sunburn;
and
still—to outsoar, grounded in polarity. I’m a
fireball,
a standing sanctum, pregnant with Christ. We
imbue—a
place of fire, as winsome as grace. It was ever
this
soul, to whisper softly, and chance the music. I
perished—a
wealth of caves, a linchpin dangling. It was
midair,
a pigeon’s meal, and we chased for daylight.
I
love her like oxygen, the youngest of koans, a future
wingspan.
We watch for gray, a fantast moon, dreaming
of
soul-locks. It’s every circuit, surging Mars, the
sweetest
nectar. I love her like Neptune, and daisy justice,
carving
a vase. Its stem for stem, to grip for roots, a
leaflet
of prose. I hear to taste, and feel to watch,
retrieved
by a pond; and there to breathe, a golden swan,
bouncing
ballet. I sew a pouch, and push for stars, a
nightmare
for a fledgling; but still to fly, a logic sharp,
kneeling
near a sandbox.
