We
love like majesty, for burning a heart-cave, felt between. We die this love, to
embrace
sheer joy, streaming a songbird. Its deep for pain, even a soulquake, a
legacy
afar. I felt it hurts, to confide such truths, as intimate as mothers. We feel
undone,
a sullen scrabble, to fumble words. I was there, such for kismet, a villain
for
disguise; and more her eyes, as pensive as sorry, a lake filled aflame. Its
heartbeats,
a
pulse a second, and hard to breathe. Its anger, a shorn pride, a feeling
torpid. We
trail
lagoons, to feed for geese, to laugh and cry; and death comes gently, to plunge
a
spear,
to witness death. We meld like giants, a gelid pair, and warm for moments. We
couldn’t
see, a false sense, even a weeping tree; and now for flights, a soft perfume,
a
gorgeous physique. I can’t for tell, a future in minks, and jasmine love; for
life’s a
media,
and torn estates, to feature pride; but more a feeling, a bit benign, an atom
to
a
soul-flex. We feel it sorely, to play for actors, writhing sidewise; and more
enlove,
a
cryptic view, to see for visions. It’s more a booklet, to fathom and fret, a
bit
passive;
for eyes soar, to see for lights, as somber as a last kiss. Indeed for arts,
and
cultic
museums, sorting through salty waters. I’m for dizzy, to ponder a love, to die
three
lives; and still to smile, lost of
daughter, a whisper come Christmas; and more
the
waves, climbing to filter, the reigns of reason. It’s not for sense, but more
for
action,
to search for joys; and less to ‘demn, come deeper pleats, a bit for hurt.
