love
is a costume, or piccolo, or an undressing, “She is thunder!” too academic
unless rosy something a hint of syrup. I begged for aura or ego or vulnerability—our
last collage our color such fuchsia raw black whiteness. cubic algorithms by
aesthetic locks so treacherous its column. most need if you to die if us so
close to guidance—by conception so uncooked while we grill ethnicities. the
fire as it churns true desolate familiar if but dead still grieving! terror as theme
or discontent as motif by quality in a soul’s damnation. a curious man is a
free man, never permit it to die! what is love but sadness to lose love while I
try to enjoy love. such color scheme such penalty at automatic suggestions.
those lines by tones by much disproval. missing form too sporadic such caprice
in signs. (too clownlike to compare we admire by contrast we dread while
differences have made slaughter.) such prescience to know for certain, anything
nuanced shall endure wrath. our women turning to women, our men churning for
men, or heterosexuals damn near despising each other. such heterodox fever, or
raging orthodoxy, while a person turns against self—those fires such worlds to
sword as Samson a slew of naysayers—to mean disagreement a reason to perish
conscienceness.
love
is kitsch or genre or sacrifice. to hand power to flee if hard to have children
with people we despise. or close knit such radicalization such perch or porch
or patio.
Love
is an idol. I commit idolatry. to destroy innocence. I sip cognac I listen
opaque lights I distance from pastel absolutes.
cheers are in us blood is dripping
our sky is filled with acid—brimstone to existence blessings to crossing over
we need love. to tickle a feeling to shape a vignette as souls struck by
invisibility. such likeness such caves so acrid the desert is seeing colors.
our dear camels those laughing toes while harnessing precious pain. such
scruples as without meaning such cries as without volume too sure no one listened.
how to settle on love, it must emotion us, while too close to fret stealing
love. such depth such deer eyes while fretting tomorrow. like lemurs in habitat
today is not noticed yesterday isn’t a memory as another day is sameness: this
is love, as something ever present, we need not register another second—its second
is here. its glory never left, it only gets better, we remember an instance
ago. it never ages it never deteriorates it’s immortal. all thoughts are one
all reality is us we have never been apart!
