Those
longer pavements or shrubberies made of barnacles or tyranny such sweetness.
To have
loved like adolescents to have accrued a deficit while desiring those faraway
skies; so perfect in you such a true woman while nothing enters by accident;
this old belief this character reference while I adore for what was aura; so mountainous
or small so gigantic or humble where it must be all of the above; to surrender
to charms to arrive so filthy where inadequacies are noticed; a caliber in
essence those tarsier eyes or destined for fire so aloof; our casual brains our
intense analyses after something we damn near possessed; this reach into cosmos
this alienation while so happy it hurts; those delicate issues while forced to
play prosecutor where something so disoriented has never been so beautiful;
this deep affliction this uncoiled solidification or something crucial speaking
unrealities; or such a fair mistake while learning nonetheless into galaxies or
portraits unto something so mature such abstracts such curious deaths!
Such
Tibetan rites those palms so glorious but fount to fury this immobilized pash. So
exiled inside while clutching a miracle or redeemed in a second looking just
like me!
It was
attractive behaviors, alas, it was something subconscious, while I fear it was
our heart-brains; such passivity or tender dryness at aches for something
aching alone; or so close it troubles where it feels so comfortable while it
drifts and wanders and roves the conscious mind; our dueling hormones our
thoughts about eugenics or our emotional intelligence—as rajah inhabitants
or devotional spirits where the gut floods and releases; those battles with
feelings, or this curse to hate others, while one frets over becoming a
shoebill.
We become elements
kneading sawgrass or at breaths cheating existence; to imagine needing freedoms
where something is romantic insomuch as to cross wires; but never that way or
feeling appraised where most people must become naïve; this ability to elope,
so far away from self, while depending upon the fruit in her eyes; chestnuts
and flames, or Sandra Beasley and coffee, as to sense something protecting her
elegance; but a shaky hand, but trembling features, or this interior element smelting
its gold. To notice eyelashes or arms with peach fuzz, while one is concerned
about the irony; to display a mandolin while a piano is screaming or typing
latent love.
I will never feel
essence as it appears in fantasy where I am asking for something intermitted;
those watchful vistas those rickety meadows or city flames becoming tragic
wisdom; but Love looks joyful so dearly evasive while protecting those interior
museums; as effected by roses or moved by jamesia where nearby lives a crucial
mistake; indeed, we desire something unhealthy, where life is a crucible, we
desire utter affection for our trespasses; such royal carpet, such pure
nonsense, so I imagine Love is disgruntle with me.
