pure
lavender, Love—or sword-blades. There you sand,
screaming
or seething or suspicious. We dye
satin
ears, where essence cried. We
insurrect,
floating by driftwood. so much
luggage:
we mourn ransom: you fly—such fallen
soul!
we mystic reigns, to soar wounds, for love but
grieving
ash! guide us softly, by yogic arc,
where
fruit buds: we part pieces. whom
appreciates
love, where fields ripen hours?
what
features became pain, so sacrificial? it is us, Love:
longing,
loving, or lusting. tell me
by mind
with love—or tell me soul or sprite
sullenness;
for halls are iron, gates are walls or bleeding is living.
to shimmer
with darkness. our core, so numbed!
our
pain, our gnawing rain!
