I’m
credulous, Love; and seeping through metaphysics.
I’m
dying love; and reaping through physics.
We
grind like strangers, a star for hooks,
puffing
through
flames.
I love you like pathos, a bit mawkish, to grip
earlobes.
We lotion soul, a goose-down shower,
dripping
oils. Take a brush, a thousand strokes, pulling
hairs.
I’m so aesthetic, afraid to love, a sick addiction;
for
I die between, a torn ascetic, to gnaw for ankles.
It’s
reminiscent, and déjà vu, a contrite soul. Love us
like
mystics, a godly countenance, a deep intrusion; for
love
is tulips, a bleak existence, fraught with beauty.
It
never was, a forever is, as luminous as candles. I’m
there,
a minx’s birthday, dripping in chaos. It’s more a
liquor,
boldly enamored, sitting for tremors. We wither—
to
resurrect, to photo apparitions. It’s us, a keystone gem,
afraid
to love. So souls depart, and partly fractured,
longing
for two days past.
