I
can’t fathom, a fallin’ friend, to freely be stranger. She
watches,
a force of power, kneeling for pain. How to
fathom,
a dripping soul, a bit invisible? I met her not,
to
reckon twice, walking through a photo. She sat—a
yogi’s
tear, a brilliant light; but something oozes, to
bleed
a soul, a grieving furnace.
Another
wrestles, a tier of mania, seeping through gravel.
We
channel fey, to pressure souls, a sightless flare. I
flew
through brains, to meet therein, a queen of hearts.
We
died—and morphed, to melt through falcons. The
tale
was sold, to find her heart, and near his mind. They
picture
beige, as vague as trances, pulled by forces.
There’s
a lady, an underground giant, to riddle a sphinx.
I
knew her not, to pass for energy, and something leaped.
I
can’t hear—a rounded name, to feel vibration; but ever
a
name in chambers. She sails, to boost a heart, stressing
a
bug bite. We paint so perfect, ever for distance, lodged
in
frequencies.
