It becomes
inward activity where moods shift and alter perception; it becomes multiple
thoughts arranged by cohesiveness while simmering in distrust; it becomes
reading closely those signs that escape where one might sense uneasiness; it
becomes stew-meats and gnats and cabbage; those horrifying colors so terrific
in Sade where lies were once so beautiful; it lingers during morning hours
while looking intently where saliva becomes suspect; our minds needing
something absolute while to give all for clemency or so empty in a split
second; those heart-drops those gut-wars where we swear never this intimacy
again; but feelings are unsuspecting where one is too circumspect while living
life should be on our agendas; to lose simplistic innocence or to lose those
eternal thoughts while sensing fluid, and, thus, malleable instability—at something
seeming clever at dreamscapes and harvests or so close it pains me to alter
your horizon; as we think it and so it becomes while true love is pure
sacrifice; where two come together and die with grace to lose youth and gain
something irreversible.
It becomes
our rapture this thrill swooshing dissatisfaction or so to swoon in those effervescent
seconds; our lights flickering our lambent souls vibrating where a person needs
an insatiable fever; as so into you as no other thought but you where even
working becomes you; so close and watchful so alert and scanning terrain or so
absorbed I can’t think without presence; this vigil love this all encompassing
love where we never tire of this love.
But life
is so multicolored and reality is so dynamic and minds are swooping through
ideals; those few problems or those few fawners where one is you ten years ago;
such overwhelming chemistry or those sacrifices proving fruition at a delicate
second where we feel pain for thoughts; as it becomes annoyance or something unfeeling
or such to imagine those deeds; to realize pure indifference, as if I never
knew you, while sensing anti-us characteristics; so invited to escape or so emphatic
with charity or so dense it becomes to obvious to reveal; as brilliant souls accustomed
to brilliant stages while so into something ruining your social skills.
This
inner city pain where life becomes stealth and interconnectedness becomes
temporal; but life is magic this man with vision this habit concerning
composition; those lines forming this feeling in concentration this world where,
in honesty, we desire our own; those daring spirits those furious readers where
a thought operates as a theses; indeed, maybe those hips, or maybe those eyes,
or maybe something smiling; this terrible deception those terrible concerns
while life, for some, is quite simplistic; it ends where it began it stagnates
after sex where gossip and shooting the mess take precedence; this thing that
alarms me this essence in some partners where something like that became
exhilarating; after so much this ideal to sense this ideal where said ideal was
pure imagination.
I get
low at points to realize something unyoked where two people should be growing
incessantly; as to meet a miracle after all those years where it feels good to
fret admiration; but more to writing and more to reading and more to seeing
actualities; our feudal hearts this deep relation while pain increases and life
expands; those emotions in some become logic in others or someone distressing
his humanity; those few undetectable origins those few internal privileges
while one day so pure those mental ideals; or life moving about or aches
shifting about where similar souls come to this sky-space.
