He
loved to know it; enlove with reason, to forsake critical
thought.
She drug for soul, a season of passions. They died
to
live it, barely alive. How to breathe?
He spoke for heart, aspark a planet,
sipping patience.
She
cried mercy; he stumbled love; and life was onions. They
fought
for lofty, to spin through oceans, to plead Poseidon;
and
never this rain, and ever this flame, scraping carpet. He
saw
for glow, a holy soul, beaming in anguish. Nights tore
a
sun, to voice a storm, to puff a pack.
She sewed a flight, to challenge
woe, and knit a
curtain;
where life vanished, a rising pearl. So for love, to
vet
a wound, fully intoxicated. A glass spoke, to choke a
star,
two verbs shy. “I love you, ever afraid, for we perish
kindly.”
She watched, to strip a spear, falling where he stood.
They
parted tension, to open vaults, found in vases. “I need
for
us, a missile deep, tearing tomorrow.” He gripped wrists,
falling
softly. The day had morphed, to sculpt a mallet,
rising
where Satan mourned.
