You
outsoar love, to sketch a dream, to catch a fireball.
This
for language, a small cocoon, a passage of love.
We
feature wildly, necking by sequoias, lit with moons.
Oh
for hemlines, to flicker bosoms, a lacewing star.
You
butterfly, a nimbus scar, deep a concave. I’m more
for
horderves, to fancy wines, to account for love.
You’re
torn an art, filled with glory, a Teasdale poet.
I
vie, to want attention, seeping into blood. Every yes,
a
Super Bowl, to trace a shadow. It’s heart retention,
plus
paradox, a deep contrast. The soul’s for print,
through
maple eyes, a giddy kiss. We finger soil, to plant
for
seeds, entrusted to roots. You paint for mercy, ever to
volunteer,
to carry a stranger’s burden. I smile, to nurse
a
wrist, to reckon our oyster. Its dawn Love, a brilliant
blink,
to bewitch. I’m awestruck, to carry debates, a
table
of cold items. You drift for gems, to picture
diamonds,
to guild alliance. I love it life, a beating heart,
for
berry pie.
