I loved as losing, to reside as winning,
this fair estate while absent: our
fried gizzards, our sodium noodles, our diced onions; where Love would panic,
such to perish arts, scathed, naked, and fleeing. I ached for passion, this immortal essence,
sipping wine spiced with gin: this mortal laughing, oblivious to justice, as never
a soul to believe in; hitherto, this
stress and strain, our shoulders slouching, this couch murmuring, our mirrors
refuting our reflections; where song dissipates, as demigods distract, while
ghosts appear to sorrowed eyes: this feline fire, as feral flames, featured as
fluorescence: our seconds to harps, that whirling hex, this heavy and heated
lust wagon—or flagons by humiliation, this charm as mocked, this whiff as
treacherous: to love as dying, veering through structures, as tyrannies thrusting
one last irony: to side-die wisdom, fretted by intuition, and so tender our
keepsakes: those chorus eyes; those thundering savannahs; our idyllic
violins—as cultures for deaths, impassioned by graves, struck, and abandoned to
love.
We sense destruction, but too far
invested, laughing, while gripping ribs: this inrush passion, doting violence,
as faultless as sheep: this slaughtered essence, that dazzling cruelty, if but
mutual agreement: such winsome mane, that scent by Life, this effulgent reality; as flawless derriere, as matrix
thighs, by complex negligence: if but to heights, those surreal gazelles, such
lissome framework—as years to malice, assumed as wicked, irrigated by subtle
thoughts: therewith, this throbbing luggage, this briefcase by Madness, as pure cosmic affection.
It comes as legacies, a few trysts to
brains, this reticent beauty: our opened windows, our wafting incense, those
dreamlike palms—while reaching softness, our oiled flesh-hearts, this spell to
dreams as prisons; those steep imprints, those metallic eyebrows, that
perfected skin-texture—where courtesans laugh, while geishas cry, this thin
layer by exotic arts—where moons would quake, as soul-violence explodes, while
set to erase a decade of core aggregates: hereto, such silent wretchedness,
such aesthetic undulation, as such romantic undergrowth.
I retreat with love, this hypnotic county,
our orchards rabid with growth: that ruined skirt, those dragging hems, this
thread as attached to intestines—those ravished sessions, those tile epitomes,
this antidote as scratched and ingested: as pure anarchy, this vest as rare to
sights, while Proverbs parades before our audience: our sour axioms, as rich
with tribalism, our seconds to outsoaring guilt: to have that essence, this
credence called, Flesh, this zeal as esteemed justice.
