There’s
a few, Love—drifting for shining, where eyes flush pain. I try to pause, where
something’s tugging, a puma in a vein. We know for genius, to reach for humble,
a crescent insight. We gleam like weddings, the glint of sparks, to keep for
chasing; in which to placate, a season through souls, to vibrate for miles. Its
zoetic—to pertain to life, this gemstone adventure; where to feel—a morning
star, as proud as lions; for fertile ground, to wash a blotch, to recruit a
cygnet. I cipher forward, to live a dayfly, to lean towards gadflies; where god
is stern, to craft for lights, to crawl for mercy. I love you spinning, to
float a nimbus, the fruitage of this struggle; to perish for breath, the kef of
diamonds, streaming through zest and zeal; for this is love, to build for
blocks, to impart a gift. I hear a swan, the chorus of petals, carving a day
star. It’s quite the trial, a bit ablaze, to feel allure; and hitherto, a rapid
growth, an ample experience; for this is love, to mend for garments, to rouse a
swan; whereat are pearls, to awash a mind, a glimpse for a present. Its glitter
for havens, something within, a meadow for a psyche; where psychs push, to see
for volume, a portion of a spirit; and know for mother, to see it her way, to
nudge a mirror. I felt it early, laughing and chiming, to enter baptism; where
heaven saw—a broken child, startled and sick. We twisted hemp, and siphoned
liquor, as lost as a fallen valley. It’s waves of madness, ever to see clearly,
to opt for rationality; where content is law, a daring task, an impish
personality; in which is rain, the pain of knowing, a bit askew; but this is
life, the house of palms—and sheer miracles. It’s not for now, and still for
now, the grandest paradox; for surfing swans, swept and streaming, to jaunt
through a village.
