he
struts in private. his pride is his death. so familiar with echelon passion. if
but to confess, his anguish for Love, where she dies fatally. torn wilderness.
or torn kisses. while I buckle at science. the world we live, the grave so dug,
as a man so inclined to hold his peace. I would love the Swan, for it was
tragic, while I now call her Sun Lake. those mystic habits or auburn memories
such delicate anthologies. tell me affection or drown trying harder where a man
must have one goddess: a sweet candle an ancient cave so primitive by so much
grace! if dying come to me. if raging, call an ambulance. where a man has a mantic
essence; or manic sensation this cursed blessing as to compose so fair into a
professor; such fair skin such delicate morals while we debate ethics. I have
loved adoration. I have looked at Niagara Falls. I have undone the polemic. by
anguish such attraction. where a man remains guilty. while Love might ask a
question. such fury in Moses such distrust for confession, where Aaron felt
like a rule; such utilized utensils, or pure devastation, if but to adore where
minds are lakes. I passion a feeling if but to hold your hand while it was pain
to sense such dissension. listening in Latin, or riving in Spanish, where an
Italian woman was so indelicate. the German in our wars, those Jewish missiles,
if but to adore an Irish mystic. it was death in miracles, it was torpor in
happiness, while a man looks perfect filled with fiery detestation. if you
would accept a manic, I would accept a lesbian, while we have much to explore!
our core instincts as unhappy bliss while we have yet to learn concerning
comfort!
