Oh
for Kanye, to see for love, to set for examples; and oh for Lana, to see for
fevers, to torch for love. I’m
spinning and dying and teary through a storm. The hells visit, to sip and dip
and die and live. This is magic, for pictures broken, to love a first born. The
lights are yellow, for pure fear, and psychs in the background. I feel it
beating, a torn lockdown, to sit a cell; and god knew, to search a heart, to
love a rose; and love died, to birth a jewel—and hating me sorely; for life is
green, a not to know, where friction grieves. I love for essence, a bit for shook, to
speak of Mobb Deep; but not for panic, but ever for love, a turn for intimate;
in which is life, the lines of words, to feather a memory; where heart is
grand, to rapture a swan, to filter a mother; and yes it works, to tour forgiveness,
to shed for light. I watch for
sadness, as tore as love—when hell broke free. We tether a feeling, a bit unfree, and
yearning for freedom. I concentrate,
to feel for eyes, to drive a soul; where feelings rule, to roam the shadows, as
brilliant as street lights. I feel a
soul, nearly stranded, enlove with the future. We mingle and move, to die
through liquor, enlove with a goddess.
Oh for fairness, and long legs, and the danger of breasts. It’s more the tears, and more the flings,
to see for bouncing rivers. Indeed
for resting and looking afar, a crow in a closet; for this is life, to see you
in nightmares, as rich as pulsation.
I’ve been loving you, through broken vibes, to finally enter; and this
is death, for love is free, a passing passion; but ever this more, to want for
privilege, a fool in a village; and god heard, to spread for rain, and trigger
a pull back; where essence grew—a soon return, a jester in the courts.
