By
mystic caress; this treasure by softness, this aching kiss; to have richness,
our kernel at measures, while devastated a simple gesture; where pigeons
whisper, that hectic churn, as agony festers in sky-drafts: our wilderness
love; such as sickness by curse; as one attends his funeral; by which, is
music, that inner orchestra, that feral sensation; to pardon love, this flute
by treachery, to preserve but one song—those tender seconds, repenting as
redeemed, sharing at buoyancies something metaphysic: that dream we lied; that
vision we forged; those red lights we shattered—as singing amore, that soft
nectar, our erotic horderves: if be it life, christened by love, amuck by
forests, a petal as lullabies: that strata of diamonds; that clutching at
sky-waves; that tug so gentle as pure insanity; as knowing deaths, abandoned to
freedoms, our nostrils agaze with passions: if but to live, seasoned with
ecstasy, to have fashioned something ingenious: our abysmal bliss; our angels
afire; our dalliance as sickening; this motive by stars, plucking leaves,
reading at veins our destinies: that softest ghost; that comely catastrophe;
our laden souls—to missile so quickly, rapt’d in tragedy, at tales to live this
life: that resting agony; that sleeping beauty; our beasts at such legacy; to
die that way, at love a rocket, our steepness as under siege—to crumble with
art, our trumpet ecstasies, this sublime bliss clad in miseries; as something
fatal, to find this life, at majority a bit wistful: that scratching of scalps;
that rubbing of eyes; that reaching at thoughts ignoring our cries. We shift this
way, sifting through ripples, amazed by love: that subtle scar; that intimate
understanding; that quote as Avatars, “I see you”; as broken at pureness, so
chiseled with chimes, a breeze to airborne such rapture: that furious dance;
our natures caprice; our agonies so beige as flying—where souls depart, as
running by return, by essence that incorrigible love: to have churned science;
to have formed a web; to languid in sheer energy; that purple tragedy; so sweet
with fires; as but our waves those marble eyes.
