Sentences

I’m taken by converse, to awaken finally, a bit close for comforts; to enchant an ocean, as some sort of pash, and forfeiting gravity; for earth this dome, as short in tempers, as divorced of fevers. I speak in haste, for nature is anxious, as rooted in paradoxes; to crave this channel, afloat this divinity, to touch and pull back. It’s alive this way, to trigger desire, as opposed to surrendering. I’ve asked in jest—that close the forbidden, to arrive at injustice; as running home, to appreciate life, this warmth given to souls; but deep the flex—that distills the water, as furious—flickering; to punish his self, for reflexive feelings, as to mourn our truest nature. I’m taken by life, as moments we create, spurting through Gospels; to have this arm, to converse her heart, to give a positive word; with lack of wants, to anger her soul, for all must fawn, despite the calling. 

                  

I’ve called to love, a fool at the market place, screaming this elusive name; as grinning insanity, his words so crumbled, as to provoke sympathies; where gods cringe and crawl and dance and waltz for one so grand; this woman of futures, engraved in souls, as lacking in desperation; to finally trigger such, and fall this heathen, enlove with pagan chi; as born to live, this moment in angst, as loving to finally grin; this beige enchant, this transformation, as longing in this incantation; to cringe and cry, this death of love, a child burning in genesis; this new beginning, as inclined so early, a voice within a voice; where mother’s glow, to see for child, a nature that close to self; and fathers love, this dear lightning, to thunder the third generation; for life is gray, as cyan is joy, where we sit and ponder and live and die that closer this fourth encounter.