We Must Perfect (As Nothing Remains Emphatic)

By chance to pain, blessed but accursed, such by beauty that nectar; as so sweet a voice, while at controls a joystick, by sudden occurrence a wretched witch: to find imbalance, that wrenching yelling, to appease by sex, that foolish man: by vocal graves, sipping for silence, upon pavement that easy-chair; as broken a curse, to incur anew, a disguise pouting violence. We know by love, some version by love, at figurative speech that language; where anger seeps, as stitches by flesh, to pluck our brains. I take by thoughts, that welkin glance, soon to soar by imagination: such creepy pash, by normal seas, so deep to loneness accursed for love; as never by humans, as ever a goddess, to become so close we die by fevers: so afraid of life; our restrooms to secrets; by radiance every moment that luggage; as born to pressures, our legs crossed, our attire angelic beiges; where songs mourn, as kissed perfection, to live this cage providing status; those joys to tears, as electric such praise, while to perish in a New York minute. I’m leprechaun green: I’m royal violets: I’m a treasure those eyes—as losing sanity, such by one womb, accustomed to straying thoughts: that creepy alley; that crypt of silence; that need for something depicted in novels—as deep romance, to chance our appeals, while shifting for radiance: that fire by grace; those limbs as contagious; such by mane to utter by scents; where mother appears, that tribal edginess, reminding perfection is but adjustments. [(We must conceive, in order by beliefs, this woman desperate that deception; to give us bliss, while awake another soul, crawling for screaming by nectar so sweet; that wretched man, as imbibing perceptions, this place those dishes our lies. I sound for love, that musical incantation, while peering at one that bathes; that normal woman, as to utter, “Excuse me,” where nature reaches its elements)]: this child in us, accursed by blessings, at seconds afraid we might lose: that velvet scarf; those suade heels; that oblong skirt—; or those turquoise denims; as so gracious a t-shirt; to pitch a deliberate offense: this place in souls, as primitive motion, to find for British cultivation—: such by animal anger, to ravish in private, while to abandon our princely arms: that beating at hearts, that embodied fantasy, that luxury we loss—as torn to cherish, some type of fool, treading that Thin Line.