Oh
the grandiose, to answer as gods, to frighten psychs; not for thoughts, but
behaviors, that closer the mentals—and maybe thoughts; but more to love, to
realize needs, for deep companionship: such as Sherlock Holmes to Watson, or
Traci to arts, or Romeo to Juliet. I never felt it, to finally feel it, this
vulnerability; to love forever, to feel for queasy, to build the bridge; where
love tiptoes—the essence of skylights, a bit for insecure. Oh the eloquence,
and more the Elementary, to converse
as kindred souls; to die a verb, and rise a noun, to pardon adjectives. We hope
descriptions, for dear amazements, to drop a tear; for the steaks are tender,
peppered with conversation, to grow intensely; to know for needs, that special
group, or sacred persons; to fall the attitudes, to shift and sail, or strike
art’s soul; for the coverage is awesome, as sewn as seconds, to soar through
blue blood. There’re gifts for love, as solemn as babies, to stare until tears
froze; the minds of angst, to address agendas, to trickle for love; or better
the friendships, to sew the tassels, to knit diplomas; the hope of passions, to
scold and love, to guide a comrade. I never felt it, to finally live it, a need
for these colors; to work at love, to work at freedom, to live the
unconditional; where children thrive, to know maturity, to drift through
temperaments. I couldn’t be wrong, to hold the future—as hostage for a friend;
and I couldn’t be right, to betray a soul, that proves as faithful. Let the
hearts be geese, ever to flap, to pause upon a star; else for chaos, the grand
as pain, mourning with a friend. It mustn’t be, a life for distance, gazing
upon the world; to feel for tension, that spacial leverage, to take it too far.
Oh for absence, delving deeply, to see for arks; the waves and glory, the dice
and prophecies, the deepest cravings.
