you
admire Aristocrats. you speak in concrete abstracts. there is baroque in you.
taken
by gothic men, so darkened, so poignant, so opinionated. you were always innocent.
but
mature for a woman. while needing validation.
you write prolifically.
you enjoy privacy. except for poison, you enjoy medieval brochures. (I must
shift.) it was so easy, so natural, to afflict me. to sit looking at resistance. or to have
that commonality. to have seen it too often, if but to realize this is a
culture’s norm.
foxes
or damsels so close it terrifies where beauty is attitudinal. a viable essence
or vibrancy where it was bestowed with dowry or soul. or a man so rejected he
must win favor to live again. as we use then discard or we hold on by horrors
to fix with pain our growing isolation. Isis or Artemis? such delicate choices.
where one might desire both. as such a scandal or such a scoundrel or so dearly
loved. where there was a man, a complete womanizer, and all ladies wanted him.
what makes him desired? why do they love him? such curiosity becomes its
experience.
but you are
solidary. you have tasted venom. you gave it back. so many costumes. you find anger valuable.
you attack with easiness. both
splendid, plus, taboo. at valley eyes or a raven’s mane. such innocent deceit.
so much its lost. while most terrific!
it
was rare where most open wisely while women think like men. morning would come
to a stranger. the stranger must leave. it becomes ambiguous ambrosia.
by
ambrosia to contemn you but ambiguous to need you or so vibrant to need escape.
the dearth of presence the dirge of essence while you are so different than
excitement. not as rain drizzling-in but sophistication so pure but again a
deep filth; like old gas rags while set aflame, to perish so indebted so
effulgent so esoteric to me. a eulogy to you. an old oddity to you. while I want
assistance to obit this existence. by sofa time. so relegated it hurts. by
infusion to awaken in those hours. to unsound thunder to song a skeleton while
we trek our sepulchers.
it
was never as it is. those lines weaving into vicinity. where threads are
forming along the synaptic gap. but Fever she cries. or sullen but joyful.
while we have our contradiction. to contrast religion, if but with science,
while the language seems to be a barrier. twist or sparks, trees or wood while
oxygen becomes a hot button. rights or fair treatment? love or animalized? so
much but both, into a mental umbrella while palaver rains-in.
you
will live past sin. our saws to tension. our walls in-for-out of focus. but
never into bliss as whispered a young maiden those wheels as pinning chaos. to
pleasure without shame or to become fierce where no one can reach the silence
in those mines.
