Have
you seen it, a pile of petals, to symbol love? I held her,
to
allay fears, to unbolt passion. Something gave ghost,
where
breath soared, a chimney of smoke. I walk a den,
afraid
of love, to give design. We live paradox, aware of a
stranger,
pensive to get closer. We shelter souls, to echo
dreams,
with shattered nerves. Oh the patience, to wrestle
demons,
kneeling for altars; and there’s a tempest, a touch
of
contempt, camouflaged in smiles. We howl for pastime,
enlove
with our time, pulled through forces. There’s such an
unction,
filled with raindrops, a partial tomb. The soil is
moist,
to plant for seeds, an inner paradox. Oh for fire,
and
stirring ransoms, as surreal as joy. I chant a hymn, to
praise
a totem, as sagic as songbirds. It’s more to Aum, and
bluebird
wings, to trim an aster. We love in balm, a tad bit
sore,
gripping and pulling amore. Every impulse, a forward
motion,
to tiptoe coals; and dragonflies, plague the land,
resting
at our doorpost. I watch for crops, to reap for love, as
wrapped
as pash; and love grieves, a local cry, leaping an edge.
