Tea Clouds

I thought for love, this casual, albeit, consuming glory; those different types, that magenta aura, those flippant heart-thumps—as poking at love, this gem by far—our names to furies. We love by design, this pouring forth, this devastating art; to die through cravings, as borne through prose, this rose by death his mind; for there was life that love, as is to be—these furious passions; as clashing by heights, this tea of sensations, revved by beauty that touch. It couldn’t be love, as formed through powers, to wonder of what concerns; to have named his soul, to have impressed her mind, a bit chilly by nature. It becomes from pain—that casual second, to mold by sweltering; that smelted steal, those iron tulips, that beige goodbye. I cried so deeply, this Bhakti adventure, this raja by choice; for minds are grievous, this distorted adjective, as pictured so perfect that lake. I should but speak, but where is your soul—this ache by glance that torment? It couldn’t be real, as so many to hate, as rummaged as hidden feelings; this space of persons—our mirrors to tests, as to forget a myriad of infractions; but more to rain, this taupe of clouds, by tenets this man failing. I drove a feeling, this crane by hearts, as yanked through souls; to know for powers, those marvelous persons, by ties our colors divine; to cast our training wheels, for mother could see, this needs to flow so freely; as freedom gained, from gravel to mud, this soul at once, explored; to see for riches, this pastel beige—our letters falling in-between—that inner space, that outer soul, crawling for falling to run—that pier of love, as so many fell, to claim for tender this new event. It’s off to psalms, melded into mystics, while climbing that mind of wheels; to see your face, tatted by impressions, screaming within mother’s face; this terrible song, as to get so close, to awaken reaching for mother. We’ve died this love, as churning through madness, to finally forgive our commissions; to know by vest, this inner sierra, probing for sailing this vast emotion; to live through love, as meant to succeed, gripping for grasping arts.