Untuck
a feeling—a Gordian knot—ever this pressure; for the mind’s a Bugatti, racing
and pausing, and shattering light lamps; and ever to wake up, from dot to dot,
to be there—anon. The scent was amber—the lather was rose, to bathe in
deception. I couldn’t for see, to feature a crystal, a gammon of meditations.
Oh the entities—afraid to speak it—to awaken a system; and oh the pressure, a
Gordian knot, to untuck a feeling. We spoke of art, closely aloof, to measure a
heartland. I awoke in rhythm, to enter while sleeping, centered for spellbound.
The moon was stalking, in view for essence, a margent of the future. We laughed
to see it, a set of strangers, to search no further; and ever to search, to
live it froward, to feel it clamor. Such was midnight, to regroup at dawn,
sitting and sipping silence. It was cozy a scar, to outwit patience, as fervid
as a gaze; and eyes would gloss, a fever of activity, to stumble from pash;
where sweat arose, even an odor, a taste of sinning. I captured a fib, to claim
for balance, to draw us closer. Oh the fibers, as silken as forbidden, a mirage
of serpents. We tried for earnest, and far too shy, to recapture the dawn. Oh
so heated for sight, to see for excellence, a dragon to a rose; in which for
passion, a mare to gallop, a fetching vision. We churned and tore time, lost in
memories, where tears trickled; for what was real, to make it so, a sun to a
daisy; and slain in parts, a future to a spider, to know for days; and now for
painting, to summons words, to capture essence; where love is living, a touch
of religion, as fulgent as rustic landscapes. We stumbled to it, an inrush of
cities, flooding and fleeing a soul; and now a web, even a trespass, to gaze
upon grace.
