Watery Fires

I want to love you, this purple rain, at once, a creature of habits; to find your face, scribbled in blank ink, as one terrified of visions. I want to hold you, this garnet wine—that petrified about love. I felt defaced, this chase of dreams, to become so trite; this innocent magic, at once, appealing, where hell freezes over. It shouldn’t be real, this twist of words, storming through waves; as born for death, wailing the in between, that further from giving up. I saw us jogging pain, those beauties of traumas, qualified at Quantico: I felt us cursed with love, that deep seduction, at war with natural selection: that field of mines, trekking souls of caves, as etched into a frantic storm: I saw such nights, sprinkled with glints—purging personalities: I found this ache, while charmed with angst—pictured as a perfect crush. Oh for such that thought, filtered at crossroads, clashing at an impasse: that terrible cry, falling to perish, as to rise with eagles. I drift this tear, the darkness of a prince, scaling walls of focus: that shorn concentration; that second of beats; those passions soaring ancestors: that gray lineage; our birth as riddles; our psychs as tricky wires. I crawled through mire, purified at wellsprings, afflicted with a flagrant fire. I passed through lakes, gnawing at words, at death to confess that feeling: that terrified soul; those vacant dramas; that chalice of sacrifice. I gift this love, this inner floorboard, this drawer of confetti; where hell was passion, as misguided by ink, while bleeding into silence. I’m thoughtful this life, to have won that motion, seeping into mystic madness: that casual dream; while perfected in energy; this thing of instant trespass. I’ve lived freedom, confined to chains, as one operating within guidelines: those stolen sights; that feral glimpse; at such distance from love.