I
love you with reservations; to see you reserved, for reservation was
shown. We’re attached to a notion,
even a pit, afraid to crawl out. We
speak a language, where abyss dwells, to cross- pollinate. You live psychology, to be for crazed, a
sight unseemly; where tears rinse—a savage soul, to caption feelings. We stalk a forest, alive anxiety, to send
a mixed-message.
There’s a circus, to mimic this life, to
conjure at a bookstore. You threw the
fire, even a ball, to clear for darkness.
I lost for living, to live for lost, and found at a portal.
Petals
are falling, to claim disaster, and love is searching. I have for life, a field of fractures, to
mourn a first encounter; where art is pressure, a vessel for storms, a subtle
charm; in which for flame, a hectic paradox, alive at both ends; and there for
reason, the belle of prose, pushing through gates. I walk afar, to see for
scars, an angel in a sullen suit. We perish slightly, for held in arms, to
refuse our nature; for this is poetry, ever to want—and receive for empty;
whereat is wisdom, a bird to gesture, as loud as grace.
I
love you grinning, where hell has beckoned, to sear a soul; wherefore is grit,
the courage of love, and ever to want; where death is glory, a backward season,
to read an angel’s map.
