I
never observed this feeling where a person looks and sensations erupt; such
otherness and alterity or such up and close reflexiveness while a person lives
more in fantasies; to desire sexuality or to need something tremendous while
pensive and undemanding; this identity undercurrent this rich security as
something gathered but left behind—to adore your essence this thing I can’t reach
while your aura is such wiccanism; mental magic or magenta prose at potential
passions; to associate with love or to chisel emotion so aflame and nigh
delirious; our working hearts while pumping invisibility where I gazed into
something too terrific. I grabbed coffee and walked sensation where rooftops
giggled and beckoned for comfort; whereupon our minds our dangers our pains and
gripes our felicities and detriments—to die in pure attraction or to summons
but features if but one to adore freely; this welkin rope those welted brains
or anxieties and angst so fretted a face, arms and hips; such cultural
confliction while studying sophistication or listening to a woman comfortable
in her flesh; this fair experience while Love has demons and Love is a gymnast
or such beauty as it blossoms at an infant’s palm.
I
don’t ask to fawn while avoiding mawkish sunrise but such are adored with
exponentials; this quick glance those small seconds as dancing without
moon-breaks or concrete afloat a sea-less ocean; those perky feelings or this
deep requirement where we leave certain realities to chance; our determined
hearts at decided memories as always an oasis and then our experience. If but
to contradict something laden deep in humans this want, nay, this need, to worship,
idealize and hold for life something that might destroy our concerns; this
furious flavor at casual beginnings where one possessed becomes overtly indebted;
such bold aesthetics so deeply essential while negativities might disappear in
those distant horizons fearing something tremendous at bleak and black
banisters; our ebony Kerry’s, our porcelain Amanda Seyfried’s, or our brown-souled
Jessica Alba’s—as dedicated to surviving our cares or outwitting our lusts or
plain to guts and feelings so thrown by such little interaction; this
unprideful confession our lives with such little perseverance where something
but an instance becomes something chasing and haunting our hours; rereading
those frequencies or challenged by something professional while digging into
something psychoanalytic; our psychogenic causes our big bright bravery our
cohesive chaos.
Those
galaxy legs those fuchsia calves or such a small satellite; our demeaners
embedded our language that of kingdoms or vernacular mixed with sophistication;
our radiant deaths at miracle and obedience so soothing to a woman’s
proclivity; eight a.m. wines or noon teas and nibbling acidic berries; those
screams fawning those legacies in short seconds or our gala with so many
hyenas; as Love is by math a maniac a ruined and elevated monster or some
dignified courtesan; those geisha shojis this interior rendezvous our mental
madness memoirs—so cursed to need you so forced to abide in you where Love is
want to stray and dine with something but a dandy; at drastic permissions,
insofar as machines, while patience becomes its prison; to desire like pains or
to happiness like miseries accustomed to rigor and polite distance; while too
impassive to sudden upon a coin as flipping mid-wave and laughing lightly; our terrible
and terrifying bliss, our internal chandeliers, while magic becomes medicinal
masonry; this slither of pride while hassled by submission where once
effeminate loses become necessary; such confliction this mountain inside where
one feels encompassed but behaves like barbarians; those wretched attractions
peering into drastic winds or Don Quixote and Casanova one schizophrenic
legacy; thither our cries re-listening to something fragile or realizing Love
is strength and pain: this natural art fed to zillions where seduction
becomes purely psychological; as indebted to her science and livid about
anomalies while drawn to differences; but never a naked wilderness and never
each division at times felt in motion; believing a man as cold or desiring a
mad courtship where a man is obsessed and despised and pleading and begging to
receive something given-heart to another; those weaponries or those armories
our helmets and breastplates and swords; to happen upon a sentence while
everything seems mundane and Love has never a slither those abandoned thoughts;
needing a typical man but faced with protective logic while a hunch suggests
those two aren’t there; that place in treacheries that damn near death-zone where
and while a man commits treason to adore and love a feminine and aggressive
alligator.
There
was a time this particular sideview this particular animated anguish, or that
flowing dress those fevered ears where a man realizes he has met with power;
those prowess eyes while meditated by traits and characteristics and something
both appealing and dividing; this chasm in attraction those negative and
positive currents while something is strengthened and simultaneously weakened;
those leering side-gazes this disappointed inventory where a man makes too much
rationalism; this need for his goodness but this desire for something
purely humanistic as needing something so loyal disloyalty must devastate; but
I speak as one trained in this mechanism of survival while it used to ache
sorely but days are abandoned and beauty has a sister while radical thoughts
must be harnessed; indeed, for one so into dying she gives her lungs or one so
into passion she wards off deaths and of course this need for one so inflated
it takes Invisibility to convince about treacheries; in this ruthless ruth
world, in this war of penetrating roses, or this garden combined of every traditional
religiosity known to humankind; our guts craving totalities or our minds
needing honest egalitarianism at something so gray it reminds us or tyranny and
chambers or guillotines.
