Watery Essence

We meet angels, cloaked in humanness, as around-about souls.  We fumble feelings, filled by perceptions, where gestures uproot home-base.  I saw professionalism, as it reached chaotic pride, to venture by oceans: this oasis teeming essence; that bubbling femininity; our liquid concrete molded into abstracts: if but to swim, laughing at banter, nay, rebuked by rainbows: this spin about life, this melancholic impression, while abandoned to heart-spears.

We spoon pudding, by fragile tenderness, alive an abrupt feeling: this breathing miracle, as firebrand arcades, riddled for Phoenix Islands: as born seconds apart, fraught with agitation, while stepping away from self that intimate song: to birth sensations, this mental tentacle, our welts as webs: this elfin mystic, this welkin yogi, those elitists flames of divinity—to capture by moods, this breathing trespass, as to extract muddy sediments: our mahogany rafters, this awning beneath sulfur, this ability to rewind an intensity; as, nonetheless, it reforms, apparently, a new perspective, dropping upward: this rewound-feeling, as tender our aches, peering into our expectations: this flower wilting; this lotus at blossom; our cycles distinguished by scars.

We frighten easily, alert to beauty, about to perils admiring aesthetics: those powerful legs, that lawyer’s wit, this fire at water-souls at flux in hearts: to cabbage sentimentally, this vest by esthetic breastplates, as sought a neckline to clouds: as more could utter—this voice by melody, our feelings aborted: at essence a tear, fiddling internally, this flapping fireball. I reappear to mirrors, a somber chuckle, googling a Latin term; while feeling dependable, seated at, Existence, abandoned to stressing persistent feelings: this steep overcast, at years to extinguish, while feeling this lose should it dissipate: this pure paradox, or oxymoron, or more, this typical human sphere—where love is skipping, as scratched CD’s, pulling for pushing while aching axes.

We remove time, while feeling anxious, where Love is gentle: this compelling agony engrossed in essence, to feel as thoughts our mediums: those burnished emotions; those spirit-diamonds; this relativity—as born again, such rich enlightenment, searching to feel by fortnights: to stand afar, adrift a stream, disguising our propellers—that ache as angst, those tulip-dreams, our musical harpoons: as sutured souls, knitted to essence, perfecting this existence called, Life. 

I water in being, staring at consolidated feelings, wishing to wildness a kleptic composure: this drilling by dreams, this human reflection, this tender/firm essence: our waking screams, our panic to feel, this thing as life rounded by angers.  I saw a mermaid; I ate a plum; I became this metaphorical pain-vice.  I saw a woman; something invaded this arc, where lines blurred as time slept.  It aches this passion, adjusting our compasses, at protecting our inheritance.  It never ceases, this constant evaluation, while tugged towards adventures: this probing microphone, this inner helicopter, our wings flapping while intelligence remains about gardens: this inner fool, as compelled to obey, while essence bleeds its similarities: as subtle chatter, or vacant lots, our transmissions shifting through atmospheres.  We die this essence, seeping into substance, where an invite designates a controlling feature: that silent urge; that silent pause; this silent water.