It
becomes sensory, so lied to, while convinced by conviction: this silent island,
such torn resistance, while we read our humanity: as dying creatures, dealing
in dire circumstances, so diligent, so remorseful, where behavior triggers
responses: chasing blueness, alive an horizon, so accustomed to playing
monopoly: to own portions, to rely upon segments, where one is exposed to
chaos: this lovely feeling, so dearly desired, afforded opportunities to
displease sanctity: as filthy participants, so categorized, where opinions lose
substance: our internal reasoning, as it screams, in so much, as to convince us
of our actions: so condemned as intellectuals, where brute force wins, while a
woman desires something intellectual: such appeal, to lower senses, while so
base they feel like reality: a castle in fantasy, if but one last and terrific,
if not outstanding session: while ignoring something crucial, becoming
irregular submission, haunted by dark legacies: so trenchant our curse, where a
man seeks adventure, so solitude, so opened, so irregular.
…so
approached as normality, a meek man, so humble, so compliable, while revved
towards something incredible: our writing souls, our pregnant wives, where one
is want towards remarkable: something in our eyes, something in our souls,
while needing to believe is sanctity: a casual man, upon a casual journey,
while fate is brewing caramel coffee: a slight touch, even mechanical behavior,
so seductive, so deceptive, and yet, so delectable: our running loins, our
gunning minds, if but this terrific undercurrent: to invade tyranny, as
isolated encounters, where reality is searching for belief: if but a bit of
honesty, where reality contradicts words, if but to care beyond containment:
our wretched circumstance, our wretched replies, while something smart delivers
its wretched sanctuary….
I
often wonder about you—such a cryptic person, while tendering to your
resilience: to imagine a confidant woman, as inclined to live, while certain
practices are taboo: this fool chasing, where opposites exist, if but for yin,
than but for yang: our circled frustration, to need full faith, despite, terms
and terminology: so infectious, as a glorious sky-flower, to adore, love and recreate:
our balcony smoke, our early morning shots, or those deep and sensuous
discussions: our literary debates, to purchase a book, and argue darkened
chapters: so fed with love, this vague language, while true love speaks to
satisfying needs: so accustomed to this place, this interior sanctum, where her
picture keeps popping into focus: so often at you, as maybe an escape, as maybe
clearance, while slipping into resistance: this challenging location, to
imagine something delightful, where a man receives the best in relations: so
energized, so responsible, while real decisions are communicated: as never to
suffer violence, or to destroy self, when in reality a man adores an honest
soul.
It
seems so easy—this unlikely pan, where one confesses their needs and another
opts to participate: so crazed a daisy, so rebuked a lily, while behavior seems
ridiculous: to see deception, to admire deception, while a man becomes too
observant: to have disease, while playing that card, where reality speaks to
something floating: if but those palms, so gentle to fore-pride, while outlandish
with dedication: so opened to that world, as pressure is applied, where one is
vying desperately: a firm grip, a ruined impression, so desperate to be
noticed: if but for plotting, if but for sanction, while one is surfing for
something grander: our wilderness cries, our aches in ribbons, so flustered, so
proud, while no one is paying attention.
