Gauging Our Dreams

We see rooms, pitted in sapphires, formed in pastel grays; to love adventure, catered by ghosts, this particular woman floating; as gifted that style, this color pearl, this plum hanging in stillness: our romantic chants; those seasoned thoughts; to meet by chance this silence. Those tea brown eyes, changing through lightning—that thunderclap; as turquoise berries, or beige grapes—this vineyard an inside-out soul: to see perfection; this dreaded insight; for hell wages war; to call her that, while unaware, swearing by darkness; this inner riddle, those maroon thoughts, as crimson this tickle; to change aloof, those topaz eyes—this brick speaking linguistics; to haunt this heart, that inner headache, while purpose sings about kindness; that faraway land, screaming about motives, at war with colloquialisms. They come to go; they form to perish; but it seems so simple; those raspberry lips, a rasp to image, at tears that jasper moon; as greeted with venom, as years touch islands, this puce has colored those screams. It mustn’t be adventure, to scribble a table, while gauging a pendulum: those taupe green eyes; that hazel sunlight; those days yearning to get home; as greeted in segments, a four part admission, clawing for dreamy flesh; that cold dimension, this richness of blackness, this spiraled ascension—to land a planet, this place of Neptune, while courting Pluto. It shouldn’t be real, a Virgo as a foe, a Cancer as a spear—this search for twilight, to sickle a Leo, as to awaken royalty; but this is life, strewing a Taurus, this partial Aries, at tendency this flame. Our laws are broken; tradition has perished; every soul can be replaced. It burns a flower, a pair of pear eyes, studied as to study intentions; that faraway dream, that flavescent light, those ivory tulips; as sorted in pains, that jasmine brine, singing for falling this river; as such was love, a group of wild introjects, searing for gauging this love.