Centerpiece

By inmost screams, those passionate mirrors, too unlikely to perish—as cherished deaths, by indelible force, as racing for rushing through frames: by spells of ecstasy, as merely dreaming, at hearts by generators—that cyan symbol, those arms secluded, at love by wars afar—if but to cascade, or unveil intuition, your soul by clamps to muddy clarity.

Such by scruples, seated so frantically, as voltage splayed asunder: that distant wake, that cold palm, where sunlight freezes: if life to love, that fantastic turmoil, our souls printed by conditions—to love by messages, those codified gestures, a temblor by heart assassins.

By eyelashes, Love     our farewell address     this caress by rebirth; to ache by arcs, that formal pressure, those misfortunes by love; for unrequited     or panicky by trauma     to endear a soulquake: that harvest we died     as melded by soil     screaming with candor; to have lived weaving, such elegant elbows, such drizzle by vibration—that dungeon unbarred, that undercurrent wheezing, our rapture so clever as breathless—such as intake     to settle dynamite

     so unsettled that explosion; to know by name, this fruitage pain, our chest-chakra—as pure helium     our sermonic atlas     alas     I can’t capture you!

We live as abstractions, pulled through grizzle, drenched in marrow: our concrete cleats, our baroque endeavors, our mature but gothic love dreams—where hell is peaceful, our cinema in Three-D, such as postmodern insanity—where Love is human, accustomed to normalities, albeit, scribbled by immortality—that pyramid of passions, to love but can’t flee, to ruin self by division—as dying his heart, to imbue his cave, such poetic justice.

Brains are cutting     our indie love     such as split by screens; that inner screaming, to chance by sanity, a petal as a toe-print: that untrimmed garden, as political voices, exhausting uncut sugar—as grids project, this extravagant siren, immortalized in parchment—those cold shivers, followed by warm tremors, our glaciers confused—as shredding sparkles, our photos cropped, that semblance of episodes—where goblins roam     our peaches made of skies     where beauty ravishes illnesses—that enticing mind, as chimes a soul, such by allure as metrics.

I needed love, that ambitious vision, while cemented in love: those grave shards     those splinters and nails     that image as giving life; to remember that name     as one to balances     where such is heavy that second in trimesters; where love vanished, as infused with reality, to have found by gateways: that cryptic music, those rivaling arcs, that close to pictures at deserts—where love was ludicrous, or torn a fable, as too impetuous to follow it logistics: that casual forgiveness, as seated at gates, by tales abridging our terrors: that achy drumkit, those horrid cymbals, this call as disguised by address; to want for face     that image to brains     accustomed to winning.