I
love it to see it a coquettish gaze; that something, pulling for currency, as
vague as—come here.
I
felt it to love it a one night love; that something, to break standards, to fly
faceless; that world, teeming with gems, featured in delicate wines; that earth
within, as cryptic as—come here, a galaxy’s
fever. It’s a flower dress, in sunlit
curves, a Jewish chain—a wealth of pressures. It’s a torn temper, for
doubletalk—a treasure chest; that something, fraught with innuendos, speaking
mythology. It’s allegories a fraction of truth to favor a principle; that
something, as floored as lust, to awaken through a haze; that something, akin
to satori, a German koan, to catch a saving kiss; that something, as zealous as
screams—wailed into a vest-cave. Oh for glory, where precedence wrestles,
through a village of unrest; where love is yesteryear—for actions through
glens, to feign as tyrants; in which for laughs, to crumble through pressure,
to utter—come here; whereat are
tears, to fall through love, to feel for trespass; for love is gray, where action
screams, to offer a dowry. We fell a vision, to die a legend, a volta this
existence; where patience angers, to search emotion, to shift for tones;
where-was for hectic, a night of passion, girt in seashores; in which is fancy,
a pressured star, to plead for standards.
Its luxury—a moment—that something; for sparks are prisms, to seep into
hearts, the art of disappearing—for sore returns. It’s a treasure-trove, a turn for abject,
to feather an earlobe; in which are lockets—deep the mind, to heed a key-star;
where rubies pour, to stimulate motion, abed a mind-cloud. It’s a churn innate, highly voltaic, to
fall into a winepress; where love is traction, a pair of dragons, set aflame.
