I see aesthetics, this acrylic woman, inebriated, slightly:
I see wind-chimes, moving with spirit—and such personality. I combed a feeling,
such emotional eyebrows, purring with innocence; where laundry dwells, this
need for cleaners, this naked terror; something so rounded, frantic by a hidden
nature, becoming a by-passer; to flourish with passion, this naked silence,
nestled in sheets; as to rub mane, combing through traumas, such platonic
friends; as charged with feelings, a summer’s windmill, steady and snaillike. I
see equations, this multiple force, as if creating numbers; this purposed
woman, buoyant with treasures, but filled with sullen reigns. I fainted to hear
it, such nonchalance—this intimate thing, as a present horror—as even a
day-scare, despite with child, moving through cities, as loving without aim. It
was essence this thought, to learn of such failures, studying this measure of
conditions; and it was yoga, this inner spree, as entering this voice of
reasons. I’ve seen love, pillaged by insecurities, where fawning grows
offensive; and I’ve seen love, stolen by confidence, where two compliment such
value; and I’ve seen affection, this infinite need, where pairs bargain the
silent future. We’ve awakened a feeling,
as so distant to cherish, woven into this pleasing presence—while furnished
with love, and heated as never seen, whereto, green, as privileged with
feelings; to have this current, this electrical fire, sighted in temple—that
faraway glow. The meadows are
lighted—this furnace of fractions, staring at life’s trestle; as born with
love, those diehard emotions, sailing the sundry sanctuaries; to see that line,
a portrait melting within, as given life through breath; this fashion of tales,
as reaching for hearts, a market within a parade; that source of trials, at
ease with sightseeing, while skiing this slope of prose.
