I
couldn’t live it, love; a silent death, fraught with horror. “I
love
you” is a life, often manipulated, for mere pennies. We
yen
for patience, to feel the shadow, where a man uses
profanity.
You’ve heard it all, where evidence suffers; and
thus,
it’s merely true. I couldn’t live it, love; to seek immortals,
and
breathe a lie. I shift for temper, where many yearn
dalliance,
a need for a colony. Why not wish, to love for
growth,
free of shadows formed? Life’s a tornado, even a
precious
moment, to nibble pastrami. I felt a beat, to ponder
a
list, and vibrated your flame. I’m not certain, where
certainty
is, chaste for but a second. Was it
read, where voices
spoke,
akin to frustration? I often ask: “Have you read it?” and
anger
ensues. It’ not merely untrue, and unscientific, and
everybody
knows! So read—to form a thought, to fill a heart
cave;
else for shallow, a want for wisdom, as thorough as
orange
lights.
Does it glow, a radiant contour, ever to ask for How?
I’m
sipping Folgers, a tad bit hungry, communing with hearts.
I
feel you there, scantly lower than angels, within a bedroom
valley.
Did it happen, for some to marvel, sipping a prose
song?
It’s there, floating with shadows,
flitting
a soul.
Some
are blackened, where your heart is rich, touched by
anguish.
I see you, eating fajitas, heavy on the onions; or
a
plate of tacos, from that one place. I’m more for rice, even
medium
shrimps, plus a bag of fries. What for life, even
solicitudes,
gray on nature. It’s a prose song, a river dusky, to
flint
a small boat. Was it there, a hermetic air, a moment of
chills?
Was it colorful, a need to speak, a well of tremors?
We
love
for your voice, to transverse by sky, even in a heartbeat;
and
I love for your soul, to transport diamonds, as
iridescent.
It’s often opaque, thoughts afoul, growling at
darkness; but rain is
rich, to expand growth, riding a carousel.
