Affections

We muse upon dreams, this shadow by thoughts, to rift through images; this subtle frustration, this boiling contempt, this behavioral anger; whereto, are illnesses, this mirror by lying, this frightened child; to reappear, that moment at shame, this one for seeking kindness; as repaid with love, where Adonis fled, that pain a trumpet to hearts. I loved with woes, this growth of features, too corrupt for intimacy: that welcomed feature; that person by dreams; that breakage from fears; while insecure, she held his hand, but a fraction of that innocence. I met a force, too blind for coverage, at romance with thoughts—as so nonchalant, as a man losing wits, while to betray illusions: those subtle screams, where to pull at thoughts—her face this strength of addicts; to find exhaustion, this existential repeated, that walk she couldn’t trek; as so confused, affected with cadence, this chant but access to dementias: that pregnant heartbeat, that soul restrained, that woman to capture but a segment; while days for love, gave way to courage, this man as a survivor. We muse upon lies, our ways filled with fantasies, too restricted to follow arts; as partially upset, while frustrated wakefully, this want to ravish love: that old sensation; that feral forest; that bestial skin-quake; to die that vest, to outwit metaphors—our souls severed asunder. I courted mirrors, this inner madness, where heartache became a camera: that inner picture, projected to lives—this woman his name oblivion; to hold to passion, as releasing but never, too convinced of delusions: that eager want; that beautiful person; that tale that told of terrors. We muse upon truths, as riding waves, her cylinder this heart-quake; to venture forever, that outer mindcave, as moving matter; to thump his heart, as one so sad, to find joy in affections; this space as charted—some sort of infection, as far too wise to side through promise: that man of dreams, a fraction of her soul-quakes, at terrors, to suggest needed affection.