Ghostly

I wish for more, stranded at the gates, peering at a new city; while less is given, as striving eternity, this force coursing through souls. I love us distant, as driving this vein, but not for daughters.  Must I love you, as given this life, a daughter as a grown woman? I ask and terrified, for this is law: We want that sacred affection; where it mustn’t be life, a coyote as mentor, a jaguar as friend; but this is fusion, this thing of dreams, to capture a soul in-between. I felt to panic, as to see your face, as filled with terrors: We pardoned lust, while filled in stillness, stealing our confirmations. It wasn’t our nature, as composed of thoughts, that frantic fantasy; as to return, filled with guilt, but yearning for that feeling. The earth has fallen; our moods have morphed; and still, we cringe this separateness; that fatal warmth, as to lose a kingdom, where parents would frown; so more to hiding, even from self, as to maintain order.  Ours is mystic, this future of ifs, as stranded to a cul-de-sac; where love is vengeance, as opposed to love—this fever driving rivals; to sex such fury, as in-love with urges, while fraught with abandonment.  It lives forever, this spot of softness, as one confused about conduct; to have such passion, while yearning for child—abased and feeling whole.  I must appear, as to that distant self—a woman as my mirror. Woes have changed—this exhilaration, as two surfing up mountains; to climb those doubts, as filtered in fate, this thing killing souls; but it must be real, this storm of pleasures, as greeted by omens; to have that feeling, this ecstatic frown, while yearning for re-adventures.  I must depart, where minds are gray, as heavy as steel plates; to fret the fury, while soaring in arts, this woman a master of waves.  I love us born, as this inner forgiveness, a bit too famished for liquor; where terror builds, as infused by ghosts, staring at a floating body.