I
adore passion; I resonate with dejection; I’m fond of electricity: as struck
blind, seeing beauty, or resurrected: this threshed soul, this musicality, this
human paradise: our tattooed feelings, our nights as actors, where men believe
in shadows: those shallow replies, this gift at winds, those tale-adventures:
our achy ribs, this remote access, this petrified kiss: at parish and dementia,
at tyranny and classes, at deep attraction: as never enough, our bodies
strained, our guts leaping: to need you, if but survival, while accustomed to
losing: at tragic chaos, this mind of warpism, this atypical kismet: to realize
lovers, while treasured ashamed, to compete as winning his loses: our tethered
brains, diagnosed as features, such nectar accursed for beliefs: so core civil,
so core wretched, so core trenchant: those long dissertations, that parted
theses, at miracles running rabid: patient legs, outlandish thighs, ancient,
perfected hips: while death was gentle, and dying was luxury, and pain was
comfort: to go deeper: this maniac feeling, this deep wisdom, while sorrow
became family: our French horns, our trumpets at romance, our flutes dancing
with Huldah: those fibers, Love, your wounds, Love, or paying ransom for one
that might run, Love: those sagic eyes, those sophic lips, those zenic ears: at
Om laughing, a bit too serious, while
cursed to adore a winner: this blood blue math, this orange brown agony, at
tears and jasmine moons: such azotic attraction, to perish your arms, as one
afraid he might win: those river aches, this estuary passion, our dessert with
pain: to enter roughly, as told to chill, while our rhythm became legendary: at
serenades giggling, this grown ass child, while Love became giddy: if but to
die, while yet a soul, if but those palms: balm’d in adoration, dead for alive,
at womb, gut, and tragedy: so deep at pain, such grip with pain, so trapped and
pleading for bail: this hell-force, this riveting desert, our years around
travels: at lotion and ointment, so used with pride, such seductive ardor—at treasured
soreness, our younger years, a man at pure desiccation—our threat, our dream,
our insufferable agonies—to slice arteries, to become crows, as dark
harbingers.
I’m
sick for you; I’d find self for you; those days exploring personally: this
chaotic argument, our steaks with onions, our mushroom gravies: this dragon
appetite, this caiman digest, at dinosaurs whistling: this tall tale,
concerning incarnation, at animals, snakes and humans: this deadly chase, this
deep attraction, to find you in each life: this belly war, those tragic blocks,
this impulsive decoration: to hustle with mother, to pay for mother’s
addiction, as sudden placed upon display: (but Love seems us, and Love seems
gentle, and Love has feelings): so adept to passion, so lost our eyes, so
hypnotic our sorrows: as melancholic maniacs, accustomed to levels of rain,
while trekking through marshy cities: at green horizons, to sense something
new, if but this need to perish: so astute and refined, so emphatic and
reserved, such sophistication haunting men: as laying claims, to suggest
eternity, something so raw and uncontained.
…brine
and claret, LED and devastation, or charms and our faces: such delphic pain,
such looking at silence, while souls paint silence: those dahlic cries, this tortured
feeling, at Love dying for one last death: if but for prose, to horrific bars,
where Love settled and passed into: those wires giggling, this man with one
tear, to cup said tear and offer oblation: this ka-gravel, this keel desperate,
but intact enough to walk this bridge: such jota
diamonds, this brief jaunt, at eyes sensing chemistry: to ignore death, at
long for life, while running into hesitation: those oracle sayings, this battle
with fey, our ferric iron: to thrust his sword, to grip her wrists, as
exploding a day to rise: our deep pleasures, our deep deaths, or hertz tugging
our impulses….
