I couldn’t persuade you. you’d made a
decision. so shocked by the way we love. maybe I have clues, ingredients, maybe
I babble, feign, lie. maybe I want many pegs, many elitist souls, maybe I desire
you. we never are certain. the mind-body has rhythm—it dies to resurrect—it drowns
in its needs—for debauchery, pure corruption, some yen for security. has it
fences? are gates guarded? would dying be sweet at your mercy? I come across
feelings, amazed when two fight harder, amazed to see us against the world. unrelenting
odds. feral winds. many unspoken cages.
much to struggle with, where we age differently, at 50 he’s tired, she’s
just revving the engine. it requires a regimen, a force in souls, a man is
warring to keep peace. oh, soft
flutes, ignoring, if to keep comforts, baptized, well versed, giving alms,
something isn’t aligned. precious earth, precious soil, a sickle to
imagination; unheard of sakata(s), newfound bugs, a cheetah kneeling to open
up; those brows, they furl, we’re assured as strangers. wild winds, weak
resilience, succumbing to pulsation—falling low. serious while chasing. love requires so
much. submission, outstanding arts, forbidden athletics. surprised to feel emotion, as in relation,
it seems appropriate to cherish. a
question: is it eternal, without rubrics, or dependent on rules?
