we
call it opera as to meet glory such verb tension. so amazing such living to
wonder shall love make its distance? maybe a queen maybe Casanova or regular
souls living irregular lives. I noticed something, while attempting calmness,
it’s dear to our perceptions. such Portugal eyes or polite lips while dying
becomes sweeter redemption. the father of insistence the mother of mystics
wondering if passion is a serious crime. I was smitten, like a puppy, where
reality rippled like seas; a bottom for loving a height for contempt while so
hurt everyone must suffer. an antidote or a little Voltaire at such extent to
beckon spirits. a fluttering heart a gift with angels while I can’t move fast
enough.
some lawyer some physician or some
courtesan. to want that you want that we live—a Cajun biscuit smothered in chili
too spicy to contain. such soft circumstance such memories in fires or combat
to ward us off. such a well-bred mystery so addicted to moving while nothing is
quite legitimate. our bullfights wrapped in laughter while swearing this isn’t
living. a soul with dreams a fantast anima at chords illegal in most states.
our curious lies as said to provoke madness while secure next to something
wild—for it dances for you it cries for you it takes courage for you.
a pack of seabirds a woman he
couldn’t believe or a woman he needed for identity. some casual sky some indifferent
concrete while fretting a mental pantomime. as empire a building or too much to
defend—too caught to smile as gnawing into one’s lip. an oceanic paradise or
something we ignore, if but to sustain mediocrity. but over a bridge right in
our city something is waiting to transpire: a ghost in us a feeling raging some
night we must repent.
