It’s
Havasu Falls; and so much a spirit, ever for tender. I felt to feel it, and
ever to shift, to ponder your heart. I often use you, as more for segue, this
core addiction. I can’t explain, and still for so, a midnight sunray; to follow
fears, and such for shame, a grown ass man; but this for cycles, to know your
name, a kingdom in a forest; and more for hurt, to hear your clause, a solemn
provision; for never this light, wherever this flight, to never speak it.
There’s
a woman, even a Hindu, pushing pure powers; to awaken a mystic, sitting—for
vibrating, to know for sentence. I gave for blessings, a lake of visions, to
plead a witness. We castle for hearts, a sullen cadence, to rev into cryptics;
and it was for that, a slight spell, a spectacle of confidence; for such is
there, to linger in shadows, to await the moment; but oh for pain, to grin and
suffer, for pure affliction.
If
only to speak it; the many nuances, where you infused me; and not for tears,
where such became—a vehicle of expression; but more for light, and gray-blue
tides, ever to shift, sable eyes; in which to cherish, the tours of death, a
breath near madness; and ever there, a partial referee, to abandon a bias. I
feel for beats; to skate an Iceland, a mile off-course; and I hear it—for
calling, an inclination, riddled with promise.
