It
conjures calligraphy, or coping tenets, or self-denial—this misfitted agenda,
this passion for arts, this one enchantress: those godly hips; that chiseled
persona; our winds polite this exchange: our ruthless heart-tares, our
intricate core muscles, or this space too forbidden for travel: our electric
energies, our telic design, or our melic rhythms…that palatial face, those
lengthy hair threads, this picture made perfect by mere perception: as casual
men, by casual jewels, by casual rules: or fools for justice, this treble
heart-clamp, this gentle communication: or thumping by cranes, or leaping by
anchors, to embrace eye contact: this trembling sensation, this want for
imagination, this stumbling tongue: such tragic beauty, such trifle concerns,
as to meet in wilderness locations: those deers running, as to pause, while
nodding in agreements: our coyote instincts, this long unruly day, or our arms
reaching this reachless space: those ethereal curves, that ethereal charm, or
those ethereal legs: as fervent heart-structures, or edifice empires, where
essence bleeds its aroma. I tragic a
thought, this country of strangers, where particulars distraught communication:
this perception of life, this approach to humanity, this pulling for tugging to
retrieve a response: this lonely grotto, this restrictive crevice, this place
of homage—as cruel feelings, caused by cruel persons, where said cruelness
distresses our existence: but hell to charms, and hell to precautions, in this
world fraught by ecstasy: our summer mistletoe, our panicky seduction, our
winter’s rendezvous. We live novels,
too austere to share, too proud to compete: those rare souls, caught by twine,
and witty enough to conquer our pavilions: those quilted masks, those seraphic
eyes, or that opus neckline—where nibs are haywire, our wines and parasols, our
prestigious participants: this gallery of faces, our sky high windows, our
anthems by atonement: indeed, this fission of particles, or this outlandish
windfall, where manikins come to heartbeats.
I dream about futures, studied as one edgy, living this sublime
connection—this dolor at times, this wrestling with life, this heart-alchemy: our
daydreaming nights, our amulets a bit snug, or those seconds afar that halo
above: as surely unphysical, or surely physical, to possess this deeper
feature: our pictureless skies, our tender clouds, such rapturous nectar: by
oval chins, or high cheekbones, by protruding brow-lines: this amazing reality,
this cooing bodily, this splendid inrush—where doctrine appears, our wrestles
with proverbs, or our awestruck loins: indeed, by horderves, this
heart-trumpet, this rhapsodic voyage—as needing chaste, a bit discouraged with
athletes, even, at times, to believe their far too advanced: this thing about
commitment, this surreal pleat, our fastidious sky-banners. We lease passports, this renewal with
time, such as impalpable heart-rivers: such sweet aromas, such primate roots,
such caiman genes: that fair estate, those statuesque features, such caveat
soulprints: this inner rumor, at deep concerns, to become ruined by thoughts:
that living enigma, that sibylline charm, those delphic eyes: as laconic is
unjust, so more to palatial highs, where Love senses integrity: as authentic
souls, exhausted by immortality, attempting to maintain a palace. We end with visions, our flowers
whispering, and our souls as asthmatics.
