love might grow, rapid wingspan,
ingredients settling into humans. such fierce touching, raw senses, sweet,
tender disagreements.
raven black mane. stark crazy
sensation. protected by cadence.
a riot contained, emanating emotion,
made to shutter at a voice.
over a gazania, furnished by
elegance, glowing with pride. a neat countenance, tense musicality, to feel
safeguarded; an inward doorbell, a utopic idealism, looking like one never
written.
it would arrive, tasting unsure,
digging into me.
aside terrycloth, kneeling treasure,
minds aflame.
wet, watery mudslides, at the foot of
the cave, one bird was buried.
at mountain cliffs, drinking salty
water, one becomes the valley eye.
prehistoric energies, transforming,
what was I? some creature,
instinctual, worshiping fire—the bright shadow—the night wings.
love might fight for itself, raising
itself, uncomfortable with compromise. love might migrate south, return,
uninspected. love might call in wee hours, crying for love, angling for
eternity. love is bestial, ingenuity, genuine cascades. a rare captive, all in
essence, our minds can’t define love.
predating time, or a monitor, before
clocks—most beautiful elegance, most unclothed statue, so aesthetic, so statuesque.
