do
I get to fantasize in a jungle of onions such eyes running oceans? so curt with
senses so outlandish with potential while souls heave in embarrassment. such a
romantic film some movie in Japanese or sullen into some detriment; too gorgeous
his spirit fuming his courage waning. to wean a man—off of caricatures—where he
must bring his hidden man. the stereo is humble soft scents wafting or symbols
as I compose—some alphabet some logos but mainly pathos. I find it
peculiar at its crucifixion, a woman desires desire from the one she desires.
if a soul finds favor, he can do no wrong, where elementary antics are found
cute. so gauged in a man watching while words are so considerate; by passion of
guts by limbs just right or senses bleeding as they wiggle.
I saw desert or seas while our ship
hit high noon. not in season but nonetheless an interesting belief; as dying
somewhat, from distance somewhat, to have mercy somewhat. where it matters no
more—those padded chores while I scrub in hopes of being noticed. some garden I
attend some hedge I trim or climbing some palm tree. such musicality in a walk
such fluorescent antidotes as a soul anxious for what he might keep.
pure instrumental some cage inside
as it opens to you. but a simply complex man. but a machine type man. while so
hypersensitive. a vigilant soul a hectic arcade while favor is found in flying.
those eyes are different, a hint of deception, but searching for something
pure. those hours at labs those years at poetry those feelings psychological; a
dream in a dream a daffodil on some mountain or a female hermit those months.
if to live as we first kissed or to die as we first made passion—those frank
promises those dear sickles a man drips like a spigot.
in three sentences I shall close,
with everything for us. those crystals upon high those cherubs in airs or those
waves as such so distinctive. to know with intimacy—those glasses, or those
bothered moments—as thought in us, removed in us, while meeting was inaudible.
