We
want something special, something free; something pure through behavior; this
building of portraits, something perfect, free of insecurities; to claim that
something, as in part our souls, groaning to perfect perfection; as opposed to
chiseling, those weeks of joy—our minds chasing islands; to perish through
thoughts, while canoeing downstream, experiencing an upheaval. We accept chaos,
while to challenge peace, as to indulge but a fraction. We peer and probe,
searching through closets, asking disguised questions. I’ll shift, as to speak to glories, something
tragic as nearing perfection: our richness, permeated with essence, at swings,
through growth, our love; something free of mire, adjusting daily—our permanent
conversations; to relish in features, to admire characteristics, while satiated
by attractions. It has to feel real—this
thing of souls, wanting for nothing more: that casual banter; that furious
smile; that soothing gesture—where love defines personas, to see it glowing,
suggested—indelible measures; to trek a dell, or sight our meadows, or to plant
a wish: that well of stars; while pitching coins; such leprechaun vengeance; as
searching for gold, refusing to retreat, invested wholeheartedly. I speak of
love, this courageous friendship, devoid of falsehoods. I speak of futures, and
loquat juices, and peach and pineapple kisses. I speak of morning breath, that
familiar space, while rushing to brush our teeth. I speak of uneasiness, at
mere a sentence, while acquiescing at points. It has to live love, this
drumming brain—a cello in our far regions; to sing a dirge, as soothed by
words, where arts are love this furnace.
We capture an image, as to sadden souls, where many flourish afar—in
mere a thought, for love is rich, defined a tinge by selfishness: that aching
need, to hear such music, those eyes to study our souls; that want for more,
while never enough, at peace with idealisms; to wail afar, this thing of love, painted
by soulmate-brushes: to finish a thought; or walk a mile; if but to recapture
our love. I speak of humans, invested
dearly—too rich to jeopardize; this inner frustration, peering at society,
watching where lions lurk.
