by storm such
desire if but to become a good man; such agony those wailings as peace becomes
mystery. raw intimacy such cursing or cursive walls as whales sit in
consciousness. our last argument or it’s so treacherous to forfeit years of
lies. the ghosts in me those bridges set aflame while watching Mississippi
burn. so southern at nights so northward during days so kleptic at forgiveness.
so much receiving so many flames as a man dies to return. silky eyes such raw
angst while we felt like virgins: terrible fears true ecstasy as wanting deaths
with you. a casual man a casual woman while we became such fury; to hear too
much or to give so much while remnants pierce fancy parades. a touch that
direction those bones carved by tribes such Africa in its rejects. or fiending
hectic dice or livid a squirrel at base instincts filled with misery. if but
closeness, it must be waterfalls, to desire you like winning: those head-storms
those anchors or what a man can never unveil; for truth is there, it can’t get closer,
for it’s a fugitive from feelings; such pudding as it cries, to embrace aloof
dungeons, while Love hates herself. something normal, this curse in humans,
while being unlikely for fire; so regathered so cured such blackberries—as fruit
would unravel a palm upon an apricot if but strawberry lotion; the oil of
beasts those wanton hankerings while a filthy man would convert. so hellish
into repentance such venom towards freedoms while every man needs manumission.
the doctor at cures those professors at screams or lawyers shirking
conscienceness. to have glory to have some story while Love wasn’t listening.
the soul at its hearts, those violets at skies, if but to relive in you!
