We Perceive Love

By deathless love, this wellic high, to taste that fortune of breath; those cold gardenias, our antic pressure, our rapture as simultaneous; nevertheless, our wailing nightsong, afforded this future, our thrumming catastrophe; by which, was terror, those supernal eyes, but texture so courageous with fears: to starve insanely, at essence writhing, such by ultimatum our skeptic skies.  We wilted rain, ashamed by feelings, too fast, too furious—as humbled hyenas, or ferocious jaguars, our opiate instincts: that fleet of premises, as captured by screams, our telic but stoic enchantments: that lake of sentiments, those grains of soil, our knuckles some type to language—as mere peasants, so perfect to passions, so elegant a simple montage—that wreath of demons, at cadence our scars, to add snakes to mirrors adoring our tortures; hereto, an actress in mourning, by far seduction, that escapade in London: those fragile lungs, our beating cymbals, this pull at negligence—if but his mind, to wade that rue of deaths, our pinions to meadows dejected: this screaming fiction, as rapt’d in turmoil, this cry for life as one fatal composition; to ache as weather, born of ecstasy, embraced by theatrical travesties: such pale advice, this bouquet of wisdoms—essentially, wailing, We live—if but at parishes, our stark confessions, to ravish skies embedded in nightfall(s); this pasture of pagans, our lungs needling love, to deliver this requisite of simplicity—that inner requirement, as comfort to infants, such by exile those public squares.  We fiddle vignettes, immersed in candent affairs, at shivers to witness to nuance: this inner bract, that flute of petals, that tub of oil beads—as framed in jitters, or aflame a curse, while electrified by sheer kismet: that naked weaving, as time evades capture, this mingling that something aside: our furnace raptures; our venial fibs; this shifting as sharing our helm; to evoke chains, this fetter by souls, to gallop daybreak by frameworks: if but to live, laughing freely, that inner nudging tamed; where souls ravish, this landscape of actualizations, ebbing through differences: that bold gesture, as cedarchest-joys, to afford one a new perspective—such flawless love, those turquoise daisies, this indelible dye.  [If love to live for, than love to die for, that incurable gravity—those tender captures, as awakened an ark, to fly with graces—that trenchant ache, as inner earthquakes, aflame our sky-treasures—those jasper gestures, as lives this inner self, to feel through caves insanity: our pardoned jests; therewith, a dream; to have as curses our remarkable hell-evasions: that outer miracle, as driven features, to expect guidance: such steep converse, our morning coffee, our midnight snacks—as watching figures, while loved as perfect, such laughter as reflexive; to witness reflection, that sudden tremor, while gazing at hopes; hereto, are hearts, as closer with fire, a revolution to brains].