the
volume
in
eyes such rich distrust to live according to displays; alleluia eyes,
such curses, to give religiosity
or
sweet
fever our mystic dynamite so adored where a man must be immediate, for women
hide they know imperfection where it hurts by damnation.
it became
its creation those mental ovens this social furniture where a man loved the
audition; such
auditorium
fire while glancing or deceased
where
madness seems appropriate;
but
crazed lovers infused aflame where it has never cried this way; broken
portraits shards of mirrors
or
windows feeling indiscreet; to have you
it
must be legit
while
Love isn’t a stranger to trysts.
such
free-paces such webs or cobbles while our forest is split apart
our
sylvan souls
our
shattered harmony
while
a man dies for his pictures.
it
was difficult to erase, this sketch with memories, while a man falls for
sadness; as aloof to warnings or never an inclination while
subconsciousness
becomes—the
viciousness it runs from; aborted friendship destroyed parachutes or seeing
this person in every woman
our nights
separated those wires giggling those walls as impervious; our children those
plaid arguments to realize Love must graduate to abstracts—this insecure
warfare this snake as it bites while humans are wailing for pavements.
but it
was you, our needs laughing, those clowns so close;
to
divide insanities where I watch by nonchalance into credenzas rereading but
failures; by stigmata by serious disdain where this is natural behaviors;
or
as is rare, to meet bipolarity
as
accruing one’s reflection; boarders or bridges or balance with charges—to scream
softly to become inaudible where camels are those tiny eyes;
so
afforded pain where I saw you but to whom for fixing; those impartial feelings
those deliberate emotions
where
cures seem like accommodations;
our
last
message our mire or mud, to desire desperation, if but to fly freedom;
such
inaction such pure affirmation if but by mystic alms.
