so
loud into silence so bent a straight line or crooked with compassion—the life
lost as melding in soil a thick purple/mud puddle. so accursed but Love is
chandeliers where ceilings are made of diamonds; to adore your face to love
your habits while addicted to your odors: such tender breakage or blues on Sunday
or a need for such harmful churches. our orientation our treasuries while
something said puzzled as entire night. if right I’m good, if hurt I stumble,
but Love completes the family! memories like underwear emotions like follicles dear
for gods to sense your essence! as bleeding creatures or revolutionaries while
Love was too damn adorable—to pass an infraction as granted forgiveness or a
child born, after-with, love was never sweeter. so close so drawn in where days
are begging for clemency. but a passing miracle an old essence so purple but
life is terror. to serenade sobriety to ask permission while a soul might kiss
liquor-lips. so overtaken is but gestures, where Love would lie so much
elegance, while a man thought pure sophistication—as dying to revive such years
in battle where the brigade was filled with victims. as left behind a new love
while memories irrigate a fragile soul. but Love was free. Love knew freedom.
or Love never died aside a black soul. such aches, or dewdrop eyes, while death
was the antagonist!
