Palm Our Rainbow

What for mercies, accorded as flowers, this type of enchantment; to sing of trysts, alerted by vacancy, to respond a gesture in time? We must retreat, this subtle torment, as too tipsy to remember December; that lot of souls, a bit uncontrolled, while arts sprung a spring; this serious legacy, as courted in literature, where love seems so foreign. I’ve cried this heart, as pumped through chi, this two day excursion; to laugh as sudden, this maniacal venture, as painted in diamond garlands; that thump to souls, to know for connection, while at arms to reach through pinholes. I’ve died to retreats, as pulled by tentacles, as rivers swept through atmospheres; this wake for mother, this shallow funeral, those remarks concerning nervousness. It came by surprise, as searching for legacies, where stewardship demands histories; as cadence would cry, this felt adventure, to love this Dickinson. I must advance, as seated near glory, this beat to heart your voice; as one to flourish, as to never let go, where one ponders those whys. It takes for kindness, this obtuse fortune, where love seems as appealing. I troubled a soul—this manic spell, as coursing through infinity; as would explain, this felt christic, that mind flooding cavalry; where daughters roam, as filled with powers, a bit concerned with souls; but yours is knowledge, as human powers, to escape that childhood; where times were gray, this hay for horses, as if you were unable to calculate. I know for pressure, alive this soul, to see for passion those eyes; but bounded deeply, this faint romance, to have structured a fortress; that inner exercise, this chi infusion, this man running for ethics; as bent to live, while curved to exist, this nothingness at times of passions; to see forever, as way too close, as to remember this creeping grave. I must retreat, in order we live, if space shall permit such decline: this furious outfit, this place of ghosts—your soul speaking of mercies; this casual forgiveness, as seeping into ranks, while ours revolves around a sudden instance; this kiss for glory, to know your heart, this woman as read through libraries. I must advance, to heal this soul, while attracted to chi; this mortal’s breaths, as immortality, climbing for falling to do what’s right.  Would we dare that death, controlled by yearnings, as cringing to abuse our dear Love; as this is cruel, so more this lot, to become sages held apart; or to venture that death, this blush of light, while lying indefinitely.