I
think about you—this easily uneasy creature, this purely topaz booklet; those
miracle decisions this apt creator at several instruments; to deconstruct you
or to assist with development at something more deliberate than casual.
It’s a pinch of cinnamon a bit of Vanilla
Abstract and mother’s adored walnuts.
I come to your aura or
refilmed in memories or greeted by fire. I make few suggestions but I
have
understood flame, so tragically admirable;
these
tears are gut-ward this spark is deliverance or those skyscrapers our dreams;
to add nutmeg or to struggle with honey where existence becomes ingredients; so
pure in you while something tugs where we are simultaneous sentiments; such impassioned
manifests, our mental masquerade, too close to discord;
but Love as rosettes or
tulip harmony while figuring through some gentleman; those brighter
understandings those intuitive risks while needing clarity.
I awoke with Clarence,
if but to keep in touch, but thoughts were afoul; such clashing such rug-fever
such intimate feelings.
I smoked a clove took a
few vitamins and headed to my layer.
I
assembled a trove a group of trinkets a few sacred items; while pausing for
undulations I see screams where by mouth the land seeps into itself; our yoke so
untamed our wilderness so majestic while we attempt to harmonize our doubts;
this instrumental creature but far too abrasive while becoming intelligent
might forfeit parts of existence; indeed, fewer inquiries, or fewer
reflections, and negligent participation seems exhilarating;
but we adventure into silence or
more deconstruction where pleasures are under scrutiny.
They’ll be champagne
soon, for those eyes that fly, where there will be celebration; so dreamlike so
efficiently such luminous hearts; to grow wings to soar through celestials
while undercurrents predict stormy intuition; to discern like aphorisms or to
un-sing a note at such epistemic melody. Those explosive realities where one is
faced by an impasse while letting go hurts too much; this steep clencher while
reaching for guidance attempting to unbuild an intimate decision; our rules by
existence to never harm self where nonparticipation does not determine safety;
our dearest conundrum our living mistakes at purer frequencies.
It
takes three lives to live. It takes many wounds to grow wise. And it takes
patience to unlock.
