As unsettled, our kettles melting, as
aflame in metals: this rich eclipse, our cadence abated, seated, feeding
emotions: this lime pudding, or apricot candy, by restricted happiness—that
beige symbol, so between his motions, by tortures that exit: to wrestle beauty,
a tear lethargic, to approach speaking listlessly; as affronting charms, or
miracles suffused, at tender abrasions: our eyes shifting—that thought for
deepness, while reeking of melancholia.
We adopt feelings, while tussling emotions, at an instance but captured:
this tensely spider, so huge her dreams, as tender enough our superheroes—this
leg tapping, our ink oozing, our insufferable caffeine—as steep momentum, or
cagey malaise, whereto, our brains seething its riddles. I seek distance—while captive this closer
thought, knitted knee high in ocean ambivalence: that revving heart, as peeking
from caves, a sad terror our exists: (performed by nonchalance; a trickle to a
kind gesture; our fragrance wafting our nostril bones—as songs of glory, this
nefarious triumph, spirit of my intestines: our shrouded passions, this space
internal, hedging, but insistent our music: our camel obedience; our feral
lions; our viper venom—as pleading solace, while emitting storm-fires, at
distance from our havoc: our personal shame, or that lack of conscience, while
labeled sociopaths). We break bridges,
our trickery flutes, this inner artificer—while
pure emotion, our mental personalities, as they live strictly as instincts: our
arrested seconds, as detached our alarms, this need to effort towards beauty—if
but our lungs, to break free of malaise, this psaltery of feelings. (I wonder about culture, this time of
existence, this echo into our futures: our genius addictions, as written
solemnly, our hearts a papyrus of effusions—those gray atmospheres, this charge
by love, this swan seating decisions—that core churning, our intentions
cancelled, this counseling of ambitions—where some are livid, this star fading,
our presence decorated—while singing silence, as silence misconstrued, this
need to feel our perfect homes; but it appears chaotic, this skeptic advice, (where
today its bread, while tomorrow its jelly)—this vague impression, as essential
a thought, It’s impossible to please a
sphinx: this terror by attempts; this radical soul-cry; this combing our
hearings—where fences emerge, this jousting of souls, while one utters, I need to know). We sit amore, laughing at thoughts, combating
reality: that inner novella; such treacherous kindness; this overstepping
called, love: as overtaken, that initial inrush, our unpaved convictions; to
motion with life, or to frighten, Love, while emphatic this wailing
catastrophe: our swans coming to,
those relic deserts, at arts such simplicity—as casual attraction, this rapture
of unfelt (before) feelings, this taken aflight by such innocence: that emotion
we crave, this field of energy, to arrive at, I must know thy heart: that welkin keepsake, as a locket by sounds,
to picture our cellar of ruses—that infinite chase, as pure this fire, sifting
through Sufi music: as masterful impulses, or fairytale antiques, our trance
causing us to pine—as revved but seated, or charmed but shackled, or more this
notion of extracting legitimacy: those solemn sanctums; this clandestine by
familiarity; this mental architect—as loving such richness, addicted to such
vibrancy, such elegance in house-shoes: this febrile feeling, as abating
sadness, to come to realize, I endorse
this union. (I see conversations,
while others rake—this essence in self demanding closure: our crocheted
traumas; this rigid aftereffect; this mobile aftermath—as pure hypnoses, to
render those intentions, while maintaining this perfect castle: that dying to
sutures; those angry rockets; this need to control something with its own
compass: that inner oracle, this flying afflatus, our psychical lutes: if but
to dream, as screaming our affections, swearing that tale of telepathy…if but
to speak it, or more to dye it, those revving secrets).
