We Must Retreat

I treasured you, this explosive feeling, as compounded by emotions; to accrue interest, this second upon wings, to cleave to something with promise: this lake of passions; that casual heartbeat; this vault distinguished through lies; that ark of ways, as maverick souls, at ease to distress through love: this achy arc; this window of sunlight; those curtains I can’t pronounce; to build this pleat, stationed at crossroads—our passions as deeply demonic; to cry this forest, on course to perish—our pains as casualties of wars; to die so gently, at tears, this addiction, where spectators point at dysfunction; while so profane, this inner voice, to call that savage name. I must retreat—into something special, while peering at exotic limbs: this egregious woman, as bad as a first glance, as terrified as virginity; to become fluid, this outer intimidation, this demanding persona; but more to love—this fragile/aggressive soul—so powerful that ache; to command winds, as to tread lagoons, while to heal through mania; this cordial demeanor—so wild a second, pulling at psyches; to expand love, while detached purely, where something is peculating: this pot of gumbo; those honeysweet biscuits; those garlic potatoes;—this soul of wisdom, while granted such death, at breath, this woman of wiles: that crazed persona, as so enchanting, to witness such rage; where ours is testy, this pair of rivers, flowing haphazardly. I treasure you—this inner force, yanking at something somber; this art to meadows, perusing energies—our hearts leaping heavily; to feel imperfect, as to experience perfection, while skiing into tornados; that outward tug, those sprinkles by skies, that second in time so close. I loved at such a distance, infused by romance, at once—too young to appreciate love; but ours was crooked, as not for long term, to act as if eternal; this mystic mountain, derived of scrolls, such as tablets before betrayal. I must retreat, with eyes as attics, at retrospection this wave.