Such
feelings, as emoted deeply, but not as pretenses—while achy a curve, adjusted
to feelings, scorched and sweltering—this valley of deserts, those deserted
eyes, by brains a cage—to ask for mercy, but cursed to endure, while becoming a
foreign creature: that luxury dance, by welkin hells, our inferno by breath an
image: that porcelain chin; those pouty gestures; our aversion becoming
predictable—to resist by maintenance, as tugged a thought, to rant by raving
that inner planet. We’re moody creatures, created by likeness, affectionate a
portion by time—to need for souls, as ever that distance, but just to know for
passion: our faucets equations; our tiles mosaic daycares; this feeling
expended to winds: those elegant veins; that positive negative; those features
dispersing by personality—to capture a glimpse, while heavy at work, as nature
by seduction; to lose inhibitions, but a second in time, to retreat as one
advances: that miracle dynamic; this adult life; our passions filtered through
intelligence; this agent of crime, to ballet negligees, while at fire an
illusion by water: that novel bleeding; that sultry novella; that midnight
essay—while sexy to science, as aloof to religion, as, nevertheless, frantic by
holiness: our cramping stomachs; that kiss to navels; that arc explosive dating
back to Adam—as moved by minds, that terrifying glow, to hold by panic; this
life as attraction, our predicaments uncanny, to mold so dearly this candle by
sacrifice: that notion grieving; our potions bleeding; our needs through
frustrations; that inner undercurrent, as outlined vexation, as two forfeit
caution.
We’re
chasing poison, as ever to feel life, to awaken by faces—this overt art, as to
capture a soul, that spontaneous grind—as, too, mechanical, our Warhol instincts,
blending blueberries—where love is sexy, as love is passion, by seeping into
euphoria—our full extent, as reticent feelings, to expose but enough to fly—that
voice of memories, as enthralled justice, those endemic passions—as chromatic
texture, born for this challenge, our talents craving by another’s
cultivation—our porous floods, while to envision lights, those refulgent
dreams.
It
comes with aches, fleeing through arms, at remorse that course of denial—those
animated forces, our studio screams, at museums this mind of pictures; by
love’s aggression, our impacted emotions, at justice a vehicle hard-won: those
torrid feelings; that relief by conflict; our galleries fraught by weather; to
win a feeling, as praising inheritance, at stars, our criterion: that passage
to life; those green adventures; this engrossment by passions; as engineers,
those bolts and screws, while constructing our archives.
