I’m
measured amore, at ease delicate fingers, even delicate features; for one so
fierce, everso anxious, appalled by time. I’m more at pash, lost by daisies,
screaming at channels—this femininity, our sacred appetites, but a code to
voice this void. We tremble amore, a tumbler to heart, a temblor to souls; if
but affection, that soothing pressure, our sickest symphony; as arts are
gentle, this mental soulprint, pouty over endless hips; as excavated sorely,
this gravid treasure, amused by something ill-gotten; where days perish, at
arms another’s reach, while tiptoeing holy feelings: our carved amore; our
gentle lovelock; our thoughts of evermore—this grin as sadness; this laughter
as madness; this sickness to souls as terrified. I loved a thought, as torn through
confusions, a vase as floating his mind—this grace by passions, attempting to
utter it, as chase as fools pretending; while breath titillates, as
pandemonium, our chaos our heartbeats—this pressure to clocks, a pendulum as
dictator, adjusting sorely: those curly gestures; that satin skin; that second
to mirror-apparitions—as cursed to live, or living as cursed, infatuated by
chance that moon; as argent streaks, or ardent flames, at course a bit
terrified—to see affection, in pouty eyes, such waves to ensoul a villain. I
heard for glory, this chance appeal, as moist that second our reach; to perish
by lights, our florid kingdom, left with a series of visions—as lost to love,
such as sweetest nectar, coddled by fated thoughts—our flowers as wild, our
nights mesmerized, our motives overtaken—to distance forever, peaking for
soaring—if but that moment. I’m searching amore, pleased to have felt it—this
mission for souls as amore; to appear to self, this mirror as passions, this
seaquake as appeal—to die forever, as to live forever, buried in bubbly eyes;
as cushioned forever, or more that feeling, spinning for falling this
love.
Such
awkward souls, musing upon glory, printed in soul-aches; to see with pains,
that tremendous passion, as a casual fool: that subtle champagne; that
pleasurous fire; our sidereal quirks—as holding justice, by curious flame, a
bit unfastened; this deep adventure, that tender splinter, that erotic gait; as
seducing souls, by mere a gesture, as fury irrigates loins. I retreat to
senses, or a silent whisper, alarmed but spellbound; a heaving love, but more a
fledgling, our symbols crocheted in negligence; to die eternal, by winsome flesh, at arts a bit immortal.
