…pure
phantasms (eyes), as looked into you, permeated and filled with electricity:
fawning subtly, forbidden an island, rebuked and choking: to want fevers, to
blast at mountains, framed in disgusts: so anti-laconic, so beloved, so
studious: as filmed at seven, an interior caveat, so surreal, or such a riddle:
trumpets flaring, minds winking, sipping something hectic: as tried for sober,
a bit too cool, while Love agonizes for aggression: a man crazily, to need a
pulling, in order to be magnificent: something wanes, something dies, those
blue phantasms: so Delphic, so Sibylline, for Love is an oracle: if but to embrace,
if but to shed rivers, if but so afire our hearts stop beating: angelic and
saintly, nasty and human, crucial and angry: a light aroma, a shifting aura, so
palpable, so intangible: released and cringing, found and cringing, while a man
confesses pure ignorance: so many associates, but a few friends, while
something sided with sewers: fed and ruined, roots and guts, banners and
dreams: as screaming venom, legs running venom, to dine, feed, and intoxicate
off of venom: our eyes, Love, our trials, Love, while too intimate to
associate, Love: (mother watches, and pops up, our brains recording incidents:
upon replay, as dinning with Satan’s daughter, where a man must confess
neglection: an abandoned creature, a taller tale, at Love a sight and academic:
this fool gunning, those rules shunned, where otiose became something desired:
so futile, so implacable, where Love adored being fastidious: a calming sword,
a naked ocean, while crazed and trying to cloth a lake): abracadabra, Precious,
such a fiesta, Precious, to gallop, try with deaths, and receive rejection,
Precious: a man’s story, a Love’s aches, while cuddled in an adversaries arms:
our last passport, our aborted children, so sensitive as to sense a human
embryo: those mistletoe grins, those playful kisses, while Erick was a bit
drunk: such seduction, and unbridled mayhem, where fires stirred and soldiers
fell: blamed for anything, rebuked for everything, while a daughter is closed
eyes: our first mission, our hectic rendezvous, our encrypted novel: bleeding
Love, even needing Love, to have, abuse, and lose Love: so much twine, a house
buried in happenstance, while granny loved the Pavilion….
…about
those walls, those quilted shrubberies, while souls trumpet an empire: seraphic
angels, so lost at screams, baffled, encouraged, but losing: at cares for
winds, at valleys for dungeons, so thrown, so sober, so alive: an opus
pleasure, a recitative, at plays and sights, a tale discovered in arias: our
broken songs, our weathered storms, at acrobatics but Love is undecided: to
hate and love, to dig and but shallow, to give about every dream: those feudal
mistakes, to receive and barely keep, at aggression, signs and pitstops:
crooning skylights, advertised legs, or dungeons sweet those first sips: such
atonement, such cloudy perceptions, where one is drugged and grogged—this fatal
atmosphere, those red budding furies, at passion, addiction, and triumph: our
shattered shadows, our offhand suggestions, or better, our parakeet answers: as
something living, as something a miracle, where Love agonized a purple
sky….
…sublime
lungs, a secret intoxicant, dolor, rumination, and windfalls: to ache you, to
perish this living in you, while angry with you: dearer manikins, interior fissions,
at love, light, and alchemy—those daydreams, where life is spectacular, and it
feels excellent to trust: such halo and strife, such screams and nausea, such
un-eclipsed affection: at unphysical passion, so pictured in essence, to listen
to a talkative body: so normal this rage, so cuffed this archery, at passive
cures: rapture and nectar, cries and longevity, defenses and endless apologies:
every week, every month, a new indiscretion….
