I
love you enough to perish
ever
to unlock, indeed—to
etch
a soul. We often feel
indelicate,
to fashion a snap
reaction;
but angst appears
where
hatred was fed. I
love
you enough to live, racing towards future and soul.
(I
drift.) I’m torn between
war-locks,
to drop for abyss—a
skyscraper.
You see for disdain
a
wall of mirrors
crawling
into vengeance.
Where
was I?—a question
filled
with refuge, drilled into patterns. (I drift.)
There’s
a
form
of hell, a temperate warfare, even a slanted
goodbye;
but what for help, and help for want, grieving
through
a tier of books.
What
for course?—a passerby fraught
with
shadows
of
dells. I know for you, a person of magic
streaming
and stressing a psyche. (I drift.)
It’s
in between, a
world
of webs, ever to wrench a silken skull.
You
bend and
tear,
to watch for proofs, stored in mascara.
Such
is bold, a
mirror
blank, adrift a public square; and years have
passed
a
perfect
world where trouble is aberration. (I drift).
We
feature
one
to witness two afraid of our own images. It’s
more
for
drugs a mind for
greet and churning through cries.
