Remember Your Name

I loved an image, this inner indigo, as morphed between minds; to seize depression, this welcomed station, as seeping into loins; this farewell to joys, to comb impressions, as liable for love. It dies slowly, this world about years, that frantic trembling; to have such purpose, those purposeless deeds, as one mused upon turmoil; that nonchalance, that cryptic response, those wakeful hours. I disappeared, a man to journeys, to meet a Zenist: that powerful gate; those palms clutched; that gentle speech; as more than life, those years of practice, while enchanted with mystics; this space of romance, that inner minx, this thing about animalism; as detached deeply, to have us but once, as in error to become attached. I loved her style, to cause for trembling, to see her with shakes; this country soul, filled with intelligence, while analyzing potential spirits. I died to see it, this celestial star, as infused this heart; to speak as distant, this kid to surface, as a child before his judge. It couldn’t be love, but mere attraction, where ours was shallow; this woman in motion, while going through changes, this vulture tugging intentions. I must confess—this life of passions, to see for aggravations: that solemn charm; that childhood pain; that second where clarity assaulted visions; to cringe at self, as aware deeply, that time would ruin families; this wild enchantress, subject to lives, our canals racing through images; as torn that soul, reaching for lines, to finally regroup. We feel afar, musing through prose, pursuing lightning bolts; whereto, is rain, this inner drizzling, to awaken sensations. It could be life—where heaven is myth, as so is hell; that outer angst, that broken theologian, those places we ought not to visit; wherewith, are feuds, this passion by beds, to push beyond limits; this aggressive heart, so skilled at living, but infused with seated depression; to claim for texture, this thing of joys, as to remember that love is constructed. I can’t but live, as seeing her face, that second we leaped into fractions: those aesthetic fingers; that powerful gait; that essence that ghost appeared; to see us musing, while revolving houses, this reach at best infatuation.