Mystic Souls

I broke infinity, to reckon this soul, affected by mercy, that therapy; this forbidden curse, as chosen that vacuum, enlightened by woes; this furious feature, at tears to love, that fragment but a taste. I loved by glance, some type of fool, pillaging a romantic nature; to calm his aches, pleasured by loquat eyes, this lotus by far such chaos; to love forever, studied by prose—that night this living memoir; to wail by seas, as to lie by days, this crying mischief: (that tragic heartbeat, as vexed as scorpions, this place where nothing may nigh): that art of graves, flicking a spider, a bit too late that bump; to rebuke a thought, peering at psychs, a bit that nearness, that test; as climbing seawalls, gnawing barbeque chips, sitting by lights, our sun. (I loved a geisha, that contour—that shoji screen—this angst through entrance): so terse for mercy, this tribal curse, while an angel selected a womb: to center through love; to exit in silence; this thing concerning love; where death is patient, awaiting that conscious mind, as one intoxicated by fingers; to read her toes, while giggling loudly—this thing concerning toddlers; but more to kef, this enchanted soul, at breath, the darkness of lights; this mystic realm, featured in secrets—as not much our doing. It comes by nature, that inner framework that graph, by chance, those brains. I ached a mystic, this confused language, to see with time this motivation; to outlive self, to instruct an inner being, to love by dance this reign; as fleeing with grace, to awaken a new feature, or more this pregnant blessing; where souls rapture, as to perish that name, infused by glory that swan: (that terrible passion, at length those day-falls, as much this teacher, our myth); to engage honesties, if to measure this growth, afield by night that womb; as grafted by silence, this calm by nature his wound, as terrified to see that monster. I must confess, this terror by love, while sudden to feel that ghost: (that horrible beauty, as to see her name, this force by death, that living!);

I empower that name—your heart a miracle, this privilege to love: this death by growth, that jasper spear, bleeding through dregs; as casual this art, embedded in eyes, to cringe by pains that voice; for sorrow lives, this existential—that dread of chaos: (perfected in waves; those gradual soulquakes; this bubbling frustration); while times were mercy, clinging to an image, to fly by stomachs, that angst; or pure anxiety, rocking gently, this future by way his past. I adored a vision, some way out thought, broken by chance, that madness; as soul to soul, that living by gates, as to romance the wounded winds; that fervid arch, adrift a daymare, this care by hearts.