the garden is aesthetic the pictures are tentacles or such by brine, blood and burgundy orbs; so in to you those first three months as getting close enough to disavow you; this hateful me this
intimate you while too young to understand mechanics; such training those days such resistance this month where previous insanity accrued an account; but those wings as they expand they cover California; so desperate to explode so cured for gunning or so ill for unrelated; by far those palaces, or this palatial shrine, where a few meters inward and pain is flying; but a pill to loosen but a drink to oppose or but a feeling to run rabid.
it would die that way, more to earth those fears, while bodily I could not contend.
while a man at disasters where our souls are numb it becomes clear who we are; so visual and burning or treasured unknowingly at catapults and emotion born too furious; such capturing
women if but their legacies at pulse and tender afforded three thefts; one by body or two by heart or three by brains; wyvern coals or bleeding snakes where Love was perfect those first days; such an insult while we assail if but a poet that can’t be honest; this thin wafer this strawberry milk while Love just became existential.
but a burden in cries
affixed to incurable angles
by grief where deaths have become beautiful;
to impugn such vim or to agree its terror as spatial-alert creatures; to cave in purple those mahogany eyes
at graces or detriments or addicted to this woman’s proclivities;
not by filth but a demanding and sensual fever, while I pert or balance or resist;
those deeper anathemas this enthused passerby as cursed by something
so tragically gorgeous; our vacuumed presumptions our mirrors screaming or reflection baptized
by insecurities; at needs or
concerns, so tentatively unzipped, while we need to hear something ridiculous!
those crops are fertilized
those demons are watered and
our dalliance has richness; as something unphysical or a soul unchained while years have made him wild; this internal reaper those captive instincts while California desires public behaviors; such redemption, by a vestibule of closets, where semen is abstract.
