most
have such a dream those earth/spirit raptures those extra-fortunes. so indebted
to happiness as chasing felicity so soft into delirium. our souls at war our
niceness by venom our chorus into atmosphere. if but to love us if but dying
palms locked but a memory locket. to fire in flames at modesty turned assertion
so close so pulled while needing a miracle. it was aches or burdens to see or
forfeit where something was neat but losing; those veins as so emphatic those
pinches as so romantic; to love forever to spree forever or to fly to extended
arms. the pain was nectar those contentions were formal where one might perish
too hurt to fix ashes. as bodies would argue such promise to adore such
children in another’s future. to summons sorrow to swim through misery as
managed but such sewing soil. our minds synced such synchronicity as aware but
anxious—so steep in ecstasy or lonely a scream where they mocked ambition. such
raw sinners or cavelike sanity where a man might fawn in agony. we would laugh
so thrown into fantasy, we’d awaken in sweat gripping pillows—such derision or
melancholy as to ponder into a smile—the avenues of scars those millpond geese
or precious a feeling while trekking frontal lobes. by lava or power where
death is effervescent as it haunts robbing life as it comes by delivery: mother’s
glee, or father’s last name while never to realize a woman too unbelievable to rave
by skies.
