I
love you as if tomorrow has wintered. I die for you as if
yesterday
was resurrected. What is our vision? It’s
essence
by motion, a way to forgotten trauma. It’s something
spectacular,
a tricycle free of supporting wings. Indeed,
feel
by wind, and feel by growth, and hear by mind: “I’m
a
grown up now.” I love you as if we
ended.
I
live for you as if destiny be free. Meet me near for rain,
let
us challenge grief, but filter death—aloof a moment
unseen.
I dream of you: falling or scraping gravel, as I feel
for
you, lost in furbished passion. We climb by waves, or grave
to
fly. At life much more by art. Take us somewhere
richer,
where flowers magic, or birds mandolin, as love is
unpotted
colors; for heart is songbird, fraught with melody, or
hope
is by flute, a wealth of diamonds. I love you as if
tomorrow
has witnesses. We
flourish by pain.
