Let
us journey, that forbidden island, fraught by pagan rites; this anti anitya, fashioned in purple eyes, as
turquoise electricity. Let us perish, this gothic light, as soon befriended
darkness: this frantic kiss, pleading to open eyes, this lady as half a body;
as dancing by woes, this time for joys, accustomed to mystic rubies. We love at
peace, unbeknownst our dreams, severed by something feverish: those sodden
bones, scribing at marrow, while daughters seek at bandages: this wall of
sanctuary, that yoke of silence, those nets relieved by presence; to have for
passion, this christic enchant, waving as volts puncture; to merge with ghosts,
this flickering shadow, appeased by tears that ocean; as heart to harts,
fleeing this forest, stranded at our bitterness for pains: that piano sickness;
that jazz by fears; those waves as violins wail. I’m sick by thoughts, at peace
with emptiness, bathing this solemn mourning; to have adventure, where kisses
were jaded, as now a high school student; this breaking of violence, that
saturation, pleading for crying that mercy: this fatal appeal; that winter
captivity; that tree weeping in silence; to know a friend, this sharing of
venom, as to suggest that both are normal. I float that maze, dizzy from
thinking, at days with emptiness. I must confess, where all is consciousness,
this inner negotiation; as dying with time, growing into monks, filmed by
solitary lakes: that vest of actions, seated in nonchalance, where a turn
morphs into angers: that chiseled silence, a star to young eyes, while carrying
a tsunami: that place of deaths, our needs for favors, while returning flames;
that gravid lot, those indelible wounds, this place at hearts as seafaring;
where truths are dormant, as living this truth—addicted in time to that shift;
where nights would pass, thrust through by volts, while absorbed in melancholy:
this fist of fire, at fevers to breathe, while deep that last inhalation. I
must confess, this deep admiration, for one gifted with spirits; to shun
negation, as retrieving nature, this tube being pumped with helium: that heart
of eyes, peering for seeing broken, while hells drag souls astray: it all shall
pass, this light of poisons, digging into naivety: that sordid cry—a torrent
moon, this emblem of kismet; as dying to live, while mazing through intimacies,
aloof but standing so near; that vital tour, alive that last beat, where love
arose suddenly.
