I
love you
becomes a scream an intestinal seesaw; after lamps so low those tables where
you might not know this language: mother edged by balloons as metaphors or our
zeitgeist so infectious; after moons or stars while cursed or scarred; those
navy blue dreams those turquoise worries so wild so alive while days are
pensive. I met a lady so incandescent but it’s hard to be a gentleman; they
have that they strive by forgiveness they struggle with animals; this
deliberation this chimney or soot so thick we call it tar; those sable eyes
this magenta laugh or jasmine in spring; such rough colors such deep distrust
while stubborn becomes our pitfall. I know more by secret vice, while so
uncertain, so unsure, even lost with werewolves; our windy days our wilderness
pains where we become so strong; to discount this word, to take offense, while
one must admit, the man is trying. I’m washing laundry this sink metaphor while
the signet is watching. I’m low and smiling or fretted and balanced where one
is anxious to penetrate the impervious; it’s not by anger but deliberateness
while one may not know their motive; this predicament this lockdown or feelings
arising that must be managed; those curious emotions those rabbit dolls or so
close we become a bit pushy.
I love you becomes its terror
or circles contending with behavior; near a sandcastle where people are
building a palace while we seek paradise; such swiftness by beauty such cages
by glory while one has become holy; not as different, not as unique, but
confidence in something but a few might see; to glance at objects or to find
meaning in antiques where nights are a bit left to right; those lucky eyes to
have seen reality while something hardens our reach; our impatient souls where
one is adamant insofar as one is angered. I know such fierceness where it damages
most frequencies but it feels good to kick the underdog; it’s so easy it’s so
righteous (while I will never be perfect); this claim is for others, this soul
wrestles, while reevaluating those deeper motives; if but to fix glass if but
to apply concrete if but to unspin the tops.
I
love you
becomes its wheels the pith of understanding.
We stand to lose
or we stand to fetter our lives where the evidence might catch up; it becomes
richness or gamut or sodden feelings; some are whet to love others watch
closely where some are more into actions; such serene misery this paradox but
ask a bishop about his waves.
We seek
an opus, a misfortunate fortune, while grinding is always more emphatic.
