He
thought for logos, to ground in pathos, somewhat terrified;
for
she smiles, reading for errors, amazed by similes. They
paint
so gently, where a word—morphs into reality. He
captures
music, to mend syllables, steeped in steepness. Her
unreal
eyes, searching an unreal nose, a shade of surreal. He
courted
fiction, a voiceless voice, streaming symbols. She
cries
his name, to edit his prose, to ponder metaphors. They
mingle
lights, to cup a teardrop, to surf through sulfur. He
opens
earth, to pour diamonds, a soul for sore. She loved—
a
pictureless muse, squirming for doodling. He called for
chi,
to channel a halo, mourning a first reply. She knows for
nights,
blazing jazz, as mad as forgiveness. He qualms, to
read
a vision, that close to heart. They retreat, ever for
found,
to remodel a kitchen; for cooking’s grit, a loaf of
hazelnut,
a burning pan. She’s stern for pain, a toiled heart,
striving
to fly. They live it, to glimmer lightly, to egg a fear.
Emotions
bake; time rattles; a world is pearl; for she
sparked
a match, to reap a beat, knitting a prosaic garb.
