I
know you wonder—of Chinese food, to venture spicy. We die a rhythm, to live a cave, a slave
of feelings. I hate the fraction, to
mourn the ceilings, to see for madness.
Oh for intimacy, to want for perfect, to ask for life! We cringe to read, a vest of troubles,
where a swan grieves. Try to see me,
a ghetto child, forever suffering; where demons call, to break for bottles, to
face the heartless. I love you free,
a spot upon stage, a silent sorrow; in which are veils, to stagger and live, a
source for fevers. I gave and died,
where pressure builds, to wreck for peace.
If only a grant, to soar through cities, to claim for Paris; for love is
green, to mourn for claret, to run for hell; whereat are facts, to grieve a
soul, to puncture a lung. I felt your
pain, to know for secrets, to feel a carriage; where daughters cry, and more to
laugh, to grow resilient; but feel for hearts, as wild as foxes, as bold as
lions; whereas for death, a silent voice, drowned in liquor; where god knew, to
flee a fortress, to see for lovers. I
know not—for density, to know for measures—a crowded shelter; to see for life,
and groan deeply, to carry a monster.
I love you free, and more so freely, to give a child; and not for me, to
see us rumble, to feature a wound. I
ask for reason, the signs of hell, to grieve grandparents; where life is
shadowed, to burn to fly, to level at a four. Does it kill, to feel for rain, a notch
above dying?
I ask—and not for pain, but rather for
truth; in which are vessels, to crush passions, buried in therapy; and god
knew, a solemn goddess, bent through hells.
I crave love, a midnight talk, to question anger. It’s not for guile, to feel a princess,
nearly jaded; and what for life, to live and die, crowned with darkness?
