Wednesday, April 8, 2020

By Ache I Beauty You


It’s your essence, so dire. It links by dynasty. Yes, I feel misty,
kneeling in directions.                                               There you
wander, at flaming hearts. How do I convey self, captured
by leniency, living by prickles?                       We spent years
dying. We invest so much.                              I beg you ascend.
Flee from disaster.                                                 Form by gospel.  
Babies possess sacredity. Tap into sky-fire.  
Heal by cliffs. Summer is panting: feel  
Esoteria, become flame. I see you. Your
mood is in style: calm, or disenchanted.
Minds spin. Tears drops. I’ll send by whisper. Sullen, my Bone.
I ask you more beauty. I share pain with you.  
We struggle. Yes, we fumble. To struggle is by snow.  
We fathom slowly. Ever our guts. Ever our autumn.
Midnight by screams. I smile through fire.    

Time was Brief

    With deeper allure—to ward off ghosts—melancholia is an empire. Such dialogue confuses—: one wrestling despair. It was remote living, in...