Souls

We confess a blue ribbon, a magnificent soul, by beauty our eyes to perish; this crying love, vying for exclusivity, to awaken by virtue that tear. I gauged a soul, to lose in droves, a deciduous man: this autumn by mind; this auburn leaf; those shades of green; to fly with grace, to feel lascivious, as to become a playful soreness: that vision of futures, that mile of bluebirds, those textures by nature that complex; to love by glance, this furious fever, this torture by far: that glamorous style; that finishing gait; those cryptic attributes; to dip for diving, this trek of shores, this feasting by seawalls; as time would live, measured by features, those memories of cotton-candy. We rupture with needs, feeding seagulls, wistful by virtue; to smile such agonies, cleaving to poesy, as to live a percentage of verses: that hectic meter; that internal tone; that cadence, that musicality; to privilege this soul, so warm, so course, this billion dollar ghost. We stumble to walk, trekking eternity, examining that curious mind; to fumble to bed, somewhere that daze—this pretzel of a diamond; to rise forever, as so young that art, to cherish that aching soul. Our ways are cyan;—tumbling through darkness, this stress of joys—this filter of moods; to arrive so early, counting midnight thunder, proud to greet eyes, that soul. I was days in thought, awakened to sensations, this essence by beauty, that presence; to shift through passions, electric through hearts, to thump by chests that bonded hemp; to fate our helm, this mysterious force—so close by aches, that friction; this tense laughter, as broken experience, to see that trenchant person: to outlive a second; as inching towards moments; to find by voice, that melody.

I remember your name, as filled with riddles, as appeared in images: that yogic heart; those years of religion; those churns through fields, those loquats; to live as arts, surging through cellos, seething by way of kindness: this stature of queens; this kingdom of qualms; this miracle by way your voice; while sewn in parts, that deep intuition, this life jettisoned to winds; to purpose a star, as crawling clouds, this valley by ways of minds; where love was magnets, while music was particles—this vibrant sensation. I remember your pose, so conscious, that name, a furious fire.