Fevered Brains Afloat The Swan

I seal us skiing, peeping through crevices, unraveling gifts; that great expansion, our souls as emptying, composing where dragons dwell; this faint appeal, willing as to see, this portion of privy islands; that vast explosion, this inner profanity, as coursing through veins; to love while broken, this thing of voice, our professors retrieving something lost; that outer cushion, as pushing brains, that chain shattered in shackles; to disappear, our swan a chameleon, even an African phoenix; as knowing Europe, this beautiful dove, at qualms to live as blanks; to shoot a dream, this woman we love, as to never greet those eyes. Oh for Asia, this place for rules, our daughter a harbinger of commandments; to float so freely, sipping as gaining texture, as known to disappear in laces; that venom we drink, traipsing lagoons, this mayfly screaming vengeance; as riddled this soul, captured as to flee, at odds with returning—to something heinous, this underground affair, while neatly a chaos of love. It mustn’t be lies, to ignite an engine, where mentors fall prey to envy; that vision of woes, enlove with broken cities, at one with this senseless shame. We dance so grayly, fevered through legends, our eyes to plummet the media; this waking curse, our thirst through dungeons, as one sifting through truths; to find for madness, this of arts, as one concerned with perishing. Our nights are warm; our days are cold; whereto, this contradiction; while hell is freezing, the earth has shifted, where all has become perception. I feel remiss, this kiss begging for vocals, as we chime like strangers: this magnet woman, at odds with facts, peering into a turquoise mansion: those frantic alms; that fuchsia sky; those beige examples; while swans wander, trekking through deserts, alert to the love of sages; where truth is vision, as dissected through pains—forever at one this damaged city; for this is love, to meet near the middle, where hell has turned to flames; this crooked self, as forced to comply, while omens feature in facial muscles: this thing of sphinxes, that shattered inflection, where psychs part synaptic gaps.