The
most holy cloud by which we fly most indebted to suffering.
Purgatorial
waters. Haven hells. While carving wedgewood.
To
know you is to admire you but a creature so afar from my life; those ghetto
reminders or this imperfect beginning as struggling to rewash my sociality.
So crazed to imagine but
a cable by electricity to wonder if this is enough; but a simple complexity
but miles of luggage
to perish somewhere near
Infinity; those moonlit skies, or argent screams, to have a woman but never
secure that woman; our rabid rites so furious with flames to happen into pure
dementia; this root so raw those deceptions so keen where a man is guilty for
trespassing; if but to
re-perish, if but to re-open,
but a man devastated—so much, it is impossible to fly!
I
brood over beauty—it is nondescriptive—it never reveals those demons.
She
yearned in adolescence she bloomed late in life it was hell to negotiate all of
the attention; mother never taught her beauty while mother deceived nature as a
result the example was freelancing; but a dream physically, but a maniac ‘neath
veils, so sociopathic or so graphic where a best-friend was falling enlove;
such stern/sugary eyes but willingness so great if but to die while making our
breaths; such glamorous/media hips at wafture or stride to relive in segments
proud to have suffered:
those liquidity mirrors
so ill-advised while no one was there to mentor anguish.
But
a gracile woman so tender in a second so lost in aftermaths!
It
must be a riddle as a man thinks those inadequacies if but to believe she has
been his jewel; or something of a queen so fierce with violence while pure failure
seems bizarre; our aches to touch plurality, or our social constructs, while
most say no to openness; as crystals bleeding to never those scars while so
inclined but such a device; such grandeur in our eyes or such immortal ecstasy
to clip lights affected deeply by shadows.
By glance we pause or
rethink your aura as adults rethink their social status; such distinguished
existence, as not to pigeonhole, for Love has had her lovers; while a man
dismisses trespasses in a hope to destine a treasure in so much as to resist
doubts: those fires, this bravery, those debts!
