Mirrored in Terrors

I’m at odds to hear you, this green eyed princess, even a nuisance to souls; flaming as to scorch, those tides raging, but a brook to a swan; as dying daily, as misunderstood, wishing to free our souls. I think and perish, those years without want, as tired as studied physics; to live by chance, this search for desire, a woman cringing romance; that rubric chase, as falling damp—this territory with blackened edges; to dine alone, while to greet a king, those seconds dying in copulation. I’m want to fly, our wings choking from ghosts, where you dare to bathe our sins; this color of fools, at need for daughters, as to keep a darkened secret; where mother condones, as feeding a lioness, too much to redeem coyotes: this flagrant kiss, as pulling something broken, two miles from calling eagles: if mainly to die, that inner resurrection, falling at Malibu shores. I kept a serpent, that near to heart, dying over a misdeed; to hate for life, this arrow piercing brick, while our swan suffered glory; this deep conundrum, light years ahead, as one able to reason. We know for rain, sorting through manure, concerned about manicures; this thing of gardens, that grit to respond love, so far into turmoil; as to barely think, while graves whistle, pulling at something stubborn. I write through ice, a villain to a dove, worthy of this mercy. Our minds cherish—this wealth of joys, founded at appropriate segments: to creep a tear, staring at divinity, with so much love at cliffs; this feral wind, rescued by chance, as one slices through madness; to remember mirrors, that cold chill, to know destiny is formed; as opposed to chance, our swan upon a kite, that name for queens upon a hawk; where life is love, this rich infusion, at moments that flute of virtue; so more this light, sketched through fears, where art must breathe.