By
strange forces this touch of man at convenience and sacrifice; to feel
disconnected to wander needy expansion at fields plucking peaches; so estranged
those years so confused about life wondering concerning our inheritance; this
plagued man those deep fortresses while psychology becomes a man’s dearest
attraction. I have died in you as one aloof from you while this sounds
impossible; but leaves whisper names and skies paint faces while gravel
contends with abstracts; our loving homes our dearest contention while
flickering habits; to adore you somberly or to need you sensually where it
becomes torture to impassion a myth; so cut off from self while denying fantasy
and taking in raw material; a bit edgy these days a bit off-track those
mornings where we play such critical Atari. Those winds so elusive this feeling
so familiar where Love was design and angst and terror; rereading poets
semi-flogged at so much information it was hard to write; this overhaul this
overkill at something forever overestimated. But beauty is sweet those eyes so
rough and that deliberate air is lethal; our geisha girls our kleptomaniac hips
as thieves abandoned to plunder. I could love one like you if I could trust one
like you as a creature searching for something critical. It was moments ago,
looking at inward pictures, while ignoring greater stimulation; to confess
something naïve or to vow one’s sanity at unearthed futuristic mistakes; for
love desires structure or something dearly familiar, while lost and damaged a
man is a rarer source; such gray matter, to realize eclipses, while fetching
for timbre. I feel observant and searching by candles to arrive at one goodbye;
for existence becomes friends and friends must condone or something spectacular
finds its way to trash-bins. But a deeper reality to find you don’t live where
a man becomes an adult orphan; this future with one rose those petals seeming
dreamy our wings at forests and our screams at dominions—to perish but threshed
such chaff and winnowing while we seem so incredible; this winter with debates
those summers with frenzy or this ache with one indebted grave.
I
mis-knew us this flippant sarcasm at something too lit to be authentic; this
constant barrage those endless vows while, indeed, a person withdraws; but to
suggest that we age and to suggest that we die or to claim for love as long as
love desires in return; it sounds more human plus our discussions while a man
is fighting for partnership. If but to insist if but soil and daisies as some
typical adventure. So close to extinguished or so raw with losing where a
person is most proud to have destroyed innocence; our gutted lullabies our soft
soothing mistakes where it truly is irrelevant; our next spouse at something
becoming simplistic while reaching immutability becomes a daily excursion; but
Love is powerful and Love has stamina while Love is spirit.
I
come to mind-fences, peering through dimensions, while lights are asking for
entrance; this heavy debate this opened gate while Love watches and determines
to whiff closer; this triumph for many or this deeper resentment while Love has
a definite contagion; our bodies maneuvering our conversation becoming letters
and our language becoming literature; those oval eyes those almond lips at
something terribly romantic; this other extension or this anguish for one
debating where most are playing connect the dots; but days have been thoughts
and walking has becoming musing while a fool haunts a feeling those nights; our
combat with persistence or years fretting invisibility while Love has watched
the whole adventure.
