Aloft
an island, our skeleton souls, as bathed in warm waters;—while cavalier, ablaze
this image, our women as reflections; while pierced our demon, this subtle chi,
our eyes vacuumed;—to die eternal, as
inner reservoirs, feeding our palmerworms: if love is gentle, it shall live its
course, as external truths: that tide his mind; that earth her river; those
melodies as tangerines—so sweet to touch, this music as grateful, as born this
woman his soul. It came by spaces, this sudden arc, to have known that
feeling—at cadence our lights, this rhythmic line, leaning into cauldrons; to
spoil our brains, or become ascetics, somewhere her husband’s arms; as reasoned
souls, aglow with courage, fed through gestures those years; where hearts
flicker, as mystic gems, this face-to-brain converse—as broken language, that
deep trance, where words were gibberish. I’m sailing oceans, while seated afar,
at rapture this infant ghost—as fraught wisdom, as morphing through
ecstasies—this rich abandonment, her fingers at keyboards, this guide by trust
our swan; that legacy soul, while treasured our hearts, as born
multi-furnaces—to live that vibe, as excavated diamonds, this feeling akin to
caterpillars: that slow drag; that inner butterfly; that plethora of worlds; to
cross eternity, flaming as fuel, our inner fires mingling by nature. There comes that second, as pure lunacy, a bit
too mesmerized: our sullen pride; our wounded minds; this picture imprinted and
stitched neatly: if so this dove, plucked and skyless, peering at rebirth: our
immortal sound—punctured so deeply, our rhythmic address: this motive to live;
our palms breathing; this flower wilting unto resurrection; where love is
cadence, that partial pledge, as fevered by gravity; to lose his thought,
impressed by marble eyes, while chanting softly: this welkin dream, this ever our nights, this fan flaming
frantically: as sung that cry, this entrenched urge, while seated so calmly.
