May those Bodies Match those Minds pp. 64-65

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.

I mistaken often so drawn to another current but suspicious about this lake of selfishness; to imagine possessing something life-giving or a sanctified illusion or to raise and adore a set of kids, this fury in guts this pistol just purchased this dream unfolding into its nightmare; rereading a confession or gazing at something lurid where lies and screams seem so appropriate; this familiar routine but we need an audience while knowing we aim to deceive; it’s in our rhythm it’s in our carriage and it lives embedded in our skies; as walking upon pavement but never acknowledging pavements where reality is such a fornicating liar; she distresses in droves and she laughs with delusion while undercutting every interior clarity; but Love is rich with understanding and Love is incomplete science while Love has so little in thoughts to lay claims to; this invisible documentary this feeling where you are concerned if but to stop with feeling those subtle ridges; our jagged converse or this slight feeling where albeit for clearance you wouldn’t mind a few visceral and thus agonizing emotions; but I must confess this terrible confession where too much was dysfunction by the age of three; this caring overseer this blighted overseer or this realized and cursed overseer; our tragic exhaustion where so much seeming normal to most appears as over-exaggeration—for one sees jewelries and another sees depletion while a woman determines most of life through those interior lesions!