you
sit with a friend, I happen into you, we bypass unfeeling pains. so much a
touch so little a grin something inside screaming. I battle you. I coddle you.
we desire more. sickroom boundaries. deep inside boundaries. like running from
your aura boundaries. to love is to unlove to die is to undie like memories
floating in a fantasy. surreal is a testimony. being delivered is a gust. having
pure passion is unpleasurable. so counterintuitive. but try to fathom. to
receive is to lose—we see it disappearing. maybe in Latin America, so sure to
inflate, so much to feel goodness. maybe in Germany, those European eyes, maybe
a Danish conniption. as gunning into a space, most never enter, for most never
try. too concerned with flesh, vetoing mind perusal, in exchange for an
incomplete moment. I was at myself, rummaging skies, I met an Australian. she
dined on converse, she laughed like high heaven, so indwelling in our curse. by
best of behaviors, by raw seduction, so subtle a person loses it. upon a
tambourine a dear mandolin so much distance, it feels electric. indeed,
counterintuitive, like a problem, we fall at love with our expectations. you
sat with a friend, I happened into you, we bypassed unfeeling pains. so much a
guard, so much a complainer, so tender you know. a prudent exit, much more eye-contact,
our genetics unbind us. threw on Gucci denims, hugging like needing safety, I know
what I know!
timeless,
riding the 405n, I exit Ventura Blvd. like a ghost. hearing your voice. falling
is two-headed: either it hurts feeling good, or it feels good hurting. it
reflects on the person—his circular system—his need to be free. Love is
nomadic, too glorious, like meeting one unreal; to imagine a curse, such a
woman, such a dear friend. I imagine they feel justice, reminded of injustice,
with a trillion-dollar gaze.
so
indwelling so much faster at a parallel with persistence. a soft scent a
miracle mind it amazes how we see—better selves, always at attention, you bring
us higher. petting a gelada circling a finger, along the insides of sawdust.
much signature sorrow, much requited agonies, feeding an inner platypus. smoky
eyes dusky lips a defined forehead. I know what I know.
