I wanted to be chaste. I think I know why. if to be perceived in a sense, I don’t perceive myself. vestal means pure, it has much meaning in America, it spells both pain and endurance. but ships are sailing or dynamite is exploding, a man is more to others than himself. many untried emotions, or unvetted feelings, while more importance is given to eating breakfast. it gets dark, lonely, or proud of something in anguish. I would unbox for you. this is my thought. but I clam up and say something foolish. but a daft man in a daft estate living at daft reasoning. maybe a tiger’s head, with a dragon’s body, with a hissing voice. so calm looking at death, or facial chills rushing into panic, as sat alone enduring my punishment. many will give it, but can’t receive it, an old cliché.
I was
weary of you and you were leery of me and we never made it passed awkwardness.
so deliberate I ponder, so intentional I believe, while we’re too vigilant
inside. a firefighter goes to war. she faces death daily. she feels proud to
make it home. a dancer is in air, she dies trying to correlate, if but to get
interior to match outward emotion. swinging from branches, leaping before
looking, missing a clutch as midair falling—to happen upon a savior. an iris
flower, an inspirited fret if but to live accustomed to partial glances. but I wanted
to feel chaste, if to you than me, while it irks or inspires awe.
are we classified? it springs to
mind.
I have
known you or dishonored me on behalf of you. most act then realize such rain at
their dissatisfaction. upon a lunaria or aside a cliff I look, cast a glance,
and die a smidgen. I was taught early. it never cooperates, and we’re likewise.
by debt of perfection, those eyes
need understanding, if but a soul knew the dauting. but such judgment and so we
run while nothing said makes sense. we become defensive, it mustn’t be true,
for I need you to believe in me. it has become vital importance.
