Oh
to love her, the flowing winds, the bracts of midnight; to breathe so freely,
cuffed by love, a willing butterfly.
Oh
the perfume, the taste of pineapple, a hint of coconut; to fever disposition,
to anticipate the unspoken, peering at an inverted sky;
to
traipse the crisp breeze, to carry a heartbeat, to drip mahogany wands.
I’m jealous for her, a raving fool,
to flatter like oils. Oh to glisten,
as sturdy as bamboo, as flexible as elements. I love us at thought, to mingle with
ghosts, partial to holy fire.
Was it us, knitted in flesh,
infusing souls; for oh the passion, the sound of unsoundness, if but a fleeting
moment; to repeat the fallin’, a nearby eclipse, tearing us asunder.
I’m vague with feelings, as foreign
as distant stars, as rocky as monsoons.
Oh the valleys, to kneel through planes, to capture a lapwing. I’m lost
this night, to seep into eyes, screaming for innocence; to teach the conscious,
some drifting message, as courted as affections.
The
earth was void, until ruby pearls, the gems of this aching mind; to chime like
whispers, grounded in caves, to yearn for one’s destiny. Indeed to love her, this miracle wave,
running through bluish deserts; where flame is peace, to feel it thriving, the
deepest echoes.
