if I
might broach its topic. I know it’s passé or unachieved or too delicate to do
it with precision. but we adventure we skate we try to attach a feeling to
adequate wording. I speak about love or enchantment or diamonds so cuffed a man
is with passion so dreary. the meter will shift like freestyle in spasms so
carefree so enlightened as what a woman brings. I will say indelicate things,
like hell to havens with healing in therapy – the sold weather so enlove as
split in twain with relaxation feeling like its crucible. by gemstone mire
tasting as it cleansed like life in sins – those fires those gut-muscles some
torque in its romance. it feels automatic but it dines with thought so much
rushing to pour out. as love-symphonies or a broken cadenza such violins in
media. I spoke to thighs or legs or hips – I am desirous to utter about faces,
lines, incredible devastation – as unable to read so lost inside where
projection is its greatest delusion. I adore perfection how it writhes in some
dungeon performing for onlookers; or I cherish straight lace some wing as it
perfects its nonconformity. like a puppet for art or a seedling for mother such
soft, unspoken, blatant disrespect. to share like crazy, or so indifferent, how
do we claim what I speak? so much a blur so easily distracted while in her arms
I envision a smirk, those gavels at trials those feelings as miles at such
growls or deep blue miseries, but a snare, if Love is willing, while we swear
to Jesus our unyielding manifestation – like flame in its shell or breakage so
rare if but a naïve shadow becomes a famous model. such tone fracture, surefire
pigmentation, a woman with snails laughing in perfection. a bit blasé over
weddings a bit serious about riches such discomfort to hear our natures, our
captures, our wilderness.
so depersonalized. such a leper. if
but too many syllables.
I was with needs if but the most
gorgeous while a man suffered from indelicacies. but Love is an empath a ruby
some incredible mistake. as I noticed in passing such glee for his arms where
beauty only intensified. I swear I’m thinking, I adore what is his, a man runs
away accepting less than his charms. SOME EMPHATIC GEM, A TRUE MENTOR, A WOMAN
A MAN MUST CHALLENGE. hey to winning, or
hearts to spinning, like a machine he addresses his mistake. as coarse a glass,
or window a soul, or a mind into focus a second behind schedule. as thoughts
fall as winds caprice if but all regions policed – by grayness to touch such a
silent vibe as created or dying at some orb in its brains.
