Diamonds of Time

It was sheer lust, at one point in history, as now its sheer ecstasy. We arrive, as so spontaneous, the chatters of an ocean. We grip in agony, this motion of cries, mourning a secret affection. Wheels churn heaven, as a spark delighted, as made humble by consciousness. 

I partook of joy, this monumental anguish, for so fleeting in crimes; as to arrange chaos, seeping into wombs, that intimidated by prowess; to have this death, as ripples and heartbeats, as charged fully with mania: the cries of sights, as verbal as turtles, as distraught as ostriches; as so it wills, this inner motion, as to utter as poets; for it’s rare a moment—a gallon of Cognac—a fist full of lies; but not yet, for something grieves—that touch of sincerity; where it doesn’t matter, for a decision was made, where two have forfeited shackles. I’ve entered Xena—as to caution war—too inebriated our song; as scratches and flesh, and blood and cross, to harness our first moment; and I’ve sighed, Olivia, as born out of wedlock, to have but a second to cry; this thing of gems—these deafly moments, to harness excruciation; so we caution winds, but a fraction of her womb, where mind causes our climaxes; and we die at dawn, rushing through dungeons—a fury filled with mirrors; to have loved like poses, as poised as dignitaries—a feeling Aristocratic; as to know injustice, screeching and screaming, What have we done?—as long lives this angst!

I consider contrast—the one as reflexive mirrors—the other, a portion of, I can’t be; to feel for livid, this deep dichotomy, as rich as an English paper; so more to fatal cries—the death of endless breaths, where senses return—as churned in glory; to remember this future, as created of yore, to inflect so much of burning hearts; where love is mentioned, out of sheer emotion, in part—a contradiction of logic; to have but seconds, to proclaim something concrete, as substance of this abstract nature; but die this river, to become this ocean, as something diamond in time.