Shifts & Turns

We surge by music, agaze by fantasies, a smidgen blasé. We shift and turn, concerned by affairs, picking at pasta—or that cheesy bread, fiddling depressions, alive at intervals: that pasty smile; those words as brevity; that bellicose temperament. We shift to joys, alive but a sentence, wheezing from laughter; that sure return—flipping through stations—that silent presence. It becomes life, stationed at eternity, while nibbling walnuts: that famous adventure, to shift that turn, alive by arts that love. We slice a berry, peering at intestines, blending margaritas. We sip personas, that inner examination, fevered a new life; to couple with love, this forbidden dance, probed by analyses; where life is gray, but settled upon concrete, that beauty as monument—or pandemonium, or something hectic, assuredly addictive: those beige souls, embedded one person, leering through droopy eyes—as captured our lives, that inner feeling, that mirrored merry-go-round—to hold debates, concerned by genres, as feral as cultivation: that gravid activity; that nurtured sophistication; those gestures chiseled through arts: those delicate manners; that inner sensation; this game but life our pure addiction; to see our eyes, affected by mere a glance, shifted at turns that culture; where music shimmies, our saxophone laughs, as curved by dignity: that bashful pretense; that cryptic touch; those eyes of antiquity: if but to ravish, our pregnant heartbeats, such richness passing with grace; to live in memories, by thought this cadence, while concerned with kindling undergrowth: that past feeling; that deep infatuation; those shifts by turns our love. We roam islands, as a bit tepid, to strike a match aflame: that blaze by glory; that cultic embodiment; this light for life as fervent red—that inner heat, that tub of ice, as melted our souls: this churning fever, knee to gravel that light, afforded this cadence. I can’t decipher—this love for angels, while deep this vetting for love: as greeted in silence, our woes to curtains, peering at reflections; as some would tarry, gripping particles of sanity, or rich that soul’s indulgence—too steep our minds, at core this machine, accustomed to remote feelings: where life is gentle; at times a bit harsh; to move through gray as confused: that chapter to souls; as shared with none; a bit excited through recollections: those shifts and turns; our daily agendas; skiing into paradise; to love as fires, this deep incandescence, while seeping into memories.