Remove
the mask, my love. Years have morphed into daylight.
I
need more a soul, and sheer amore, to stir a sleeping village.
It’s
so precious this sore; and ever epic this daymare. Every
twinge
a heartbeat, even a vessel, a tender gripe. I give for
oath,
a vacant vow, to love forevermore. It’s vacant a vow, for
love
is wounded, an idol at the barricades; but love us more,
through
numen nights, a totem of dreams; for love is rich, and
ever
vacant, as timeless as harps; so love me less, for love to
blossom,
where a soul vows for endless. We drift so gently, as
rabid
as music, to flourish with fever. I love for love a dying
love;
and more to love a waking love. It’s ever nautic, and
ever
noetic, an otic vision. I pain for love, a thetic love, to
gamble
love. Nights are iron, and more abyss,—to panic come
daylight.
Ghosts are swarming, to beckon souls, the girth of gongs.
So
love a waking vow, where love shatters vacant, a torching love;
and
what of love, to freely fly, as vacant as full, as rich as icing.
I’m
grounded, Love; a love of courage; to fall through love. Its
rites
a subtle form, a warm embrace, to love forevermore.
