Let
us believe it; this love, this furious love, floating upon flaming petals. Let
us watch her: barefaced innocence, to never share her, to bespeak such
weakness. Let us capture death, to perish sightedly—the quintessence of a
woman. She bestirs violence, contained in passion, where such is elocution. We
love her, while a sullen soul—fills her with liquor. (Pause)
I felt her breathe, the mind of a soulmate,
ever this scant devotion. She perished my heart, the lev of my grains, as gaudy as raging forth pledges. I’ve lost the lime
light, addled for a feather, to disregard the obvious. I’m flown and flared, a
fever for a favor, felt and fallin’. The tides are picturesque; ever her smile,
curving ambition, while screaming of motives. Oh the profundity, for sparked by
a stranger, as soul-minded as literature. Let us imagine, to reify love, as
cognizant as shamans.
I love this woman, a plutocrat of souls,
filtered through my veins. I heard her cry: yelling at fancy, inspirited by
snakes, as nocuous as infant pups. I feel her die, holding to failures, a
broken unbreakable. We float for damaged, a vat of vitality, as calculated as
thoughts. The seasons breed, a scent through storms, the subject of insanity. I
ingest this love, to ingratiate this love, to see her forsaking liquor. I hug
her for dear life, as if force is losing chi, to find her dying my grief. We
learn to smile, through a year of therapy, as emotional as natural birth.
There’s a barrage of fevers, even passions, as uniform as humanity. I hold her
one last tear, to walk the horizon—our telepathic secret.
