We
meant not for harm, alarmed and shaking, a CD skipping.
We
paint confusion, alert to find self, reaching for striving;
and
oh for coldness, a warm defense, scared for reaching.
I
see us swinging, a slight ringing, to part a bee hive. Your
a
flower, a gower of dreams, touched for shivers. We trek a
language,
if only love, to plant a grove; where tulips shine,
and
daisies sigh, a life that’s vexed. I pushed a wall. It tugged
return,
to floor an outburst. It’s force to force, to climb
instead,
a hundred flights up; and love is lightning, a vault
of
thunder, to pressure spirit. We feel it rise, to reap for
ghosts,
a hundred lines in; and more your smile, a strong
infusion,
a guarded fortress; and not to guard, where tension
dwells,
for a sense of self; for there’s a seam, and febrile
stars,
to flit to fly. So grab a cloud, a texture fey, to see a
screen.
I woke in visions, a small eclipse, a tempo grand; and
treble
hearts, to spark a fountain, a utopic charm. We love for
reason,
to feel for seasons, afraid of treason. Oh for light,
the
darkest hour, a sour sight; but such for pain, to grip for
soils,
to seed a galaxy; else for sullen, a static arc, to plead a
mirror.
We give effusions, to strike a match, to see for flame.
Its
euphony, a deep respect, to travel an otherworld; for
crystals
blend, a mystic fuse, a banner held high; and love is
life,
through tragic woes, to skate and ollie. So more to earn,
to
churn literature, to turn carrousels; else phlegmatic styles,
a
torn insight, to mourn a forecast.
