I
remember silence, this portal by images, this rich cave-life: our remarkable
feelings, our tender concerns, while reaching for bipolar mania: our steadfast
alliance, our mistletoe melodies, our cabins through summer rain: to dance this
heart, to remedy those lies, to curve with justice: this fist full of diamonds,
this Tiffany Romance, this African Cadence: to sense a thought and glance afar,
to meet with eye-contact: these elegant fires, such reckless passion, while
torn our cryptic alibis. I chisel life,
this torrent of liaisons, this wretched soul: as cut so young, laced with
heroine, spewing psychotic features: this loud garden, this kindred essence,
this unspent affair: as seeking outlets, a bit tipsy with liquor, a bit verdant
with longing: this anxious woman, this compatible soulmate, this flippant
skepticism—as wounded men, seeking florescence, to find with essence those
laughter-eyes: our dear departure, this lovelight wealth, this returning curse:
as fools live, and so shall I, at nectar so richly unfaithful: indeed, to sour
conveyance, or more his luxury, or more her dreams: this pitiful man, our
pitiful souls, this inner symphony as boarder-line: those kissing waves, this
blatant joy, this twilight whisper: while claiming stars, this blue blood treasure,
this purple sensation: our eyes cleaving, our twinkles as bashful, or portraits
as exhausted: this march with Lincoln, this fair agenda, this reaching
perception: our months to theater, this galloping cascade, or more, this mystic
yogi: as Wiccans disguised, as jewels dying, or persons livid those concerns.
I
gallop azures, as pure sacrifice, listening in acapella: this Rihanna gaze,
this Ciara bodily, this Cajun piano: our years to bourbon, our gymnasium hips,
our romantic arms:—at length with force, at gates with pickets, at life with
deaths: to vision this game, our pieces toppling, our chess as distorted: such
torpid topaz, such prehistoric animals, with tears to perfume as leaps his
essence: our shattered moon, our lightless nights, our christic agendas: those
jasmine eyes, our benign illness, our gelid expanses: this inner theosophy,
this mystic Buddhist, this Sufi monk—at days with violence, at women with
truths, to have for perfect one passion per year: this winking atom, those
torrid molecules, that terrific brain—while dizzy as actors, screaming with
Aretha, but floored to something heinous: our Blige empires, our bleached
sisters, or more, this curve as disputing integrities: this salty lemon, this
woman dying, this man proffering life-vests: as sunk our guts, those Goliath
swords, those Superwoman calves.
Let’s
wax with love, this sacral soul, this rumored-agenda, this chiseled fever: our
seconds to purity, to finally meet you, after years of banishments and tales of
passion: those tropic women, those scholarly women, this making where deaths
formulated and tales bled our proprieties: (to chapel boldly, this female
preacher, this strategized bishop—those dark feelings, this battle with
linguistics, or more, our battle with coined language: as dynamite explodes,
this cave of mimes, this napkin soaked in blood: this dread pilgrim, this remora atmosphere, this cleaving dynasty—while
born this voyage, our seas to Jamaica, our inner JZ’s—if but to live, our eyes
as windows, this Hill travesty: as endless or countless, or breathless and
single, this treasure to expose as bleeding: this war upon brains, this inner
struggle, this florid sacrifice): to dance with fevers, this fervent spin, this
flavored insanity!
