We
loved for seasons, enough to live life, enough to opt for something different;
where some may love, to find for solace, we turned up a nose. It’s something difficult; to spread for
thin, where love halts its destination; for this was us, lost for lonely, open
to alternatives; where some have not, the grandest perspective, as grandiose
as, I can’t; and this is living, to
know for choices, as free as Rihanna.
We never would, to feign we should, as distant as lovemaking; but not
for all, for something’s there, a fragment of a self; in which are spurts, to
shelter pride, where both forsook a universe. We lived for arms, and lied for love, to
rebuild from wounds; and love us more, to birth a child, and flee into a city;
but what for art, a tragic tale, as tall as Zeus; in which is fear, the theft
of self, to sit in silence. I hope it
stood, as stalwart as trees, to withstand the winds; for if for bane, than life
is torn, a falcon to pavement; for vultures came, to pierce the flesh, to watch
for death; but this is life, to kill and laugh, a bit metaphorical. We love in grief, fresh from love, where
neither gripped the rope; and thus a cliff, to pardon breath, the kef of
danger. I love you less, to love you
more, a silly resistance; where friction dwells, to lecture love, an adjunct
life. We perished scenes, to reckon
Shakespeare, a Rembrandt ache; where death is good, to reckon self, a spear to
a soul. I’m more asunder, to find for
love, a bit religious. They say it
spiritual, to offset rules, where pain is segue. So more to love, to reach a
cloud, fallin’ through billows; for this a ruse, and never seen, a women’s
kimono; where great is heart, a treble beat, the tempo of crazy. So earth is sun, where sun is life,
sweating through scratching; in which is pain, a woman’s eyes, to know for
sacrifice.
