so undetermined, deliberate, delicate
fingertips—knowing joy is pain, heaving anxiety, shedding gasoline, as flaming,
cursed, a dream come to life.
so sensuous, such fire in appearance, a
soul might ingest aura; sweltering water, cacti sadness, made essence in
delivery; aching forgiveness, such projection,
famed as it must be redemption.
a fantast woman, maybe temperamental, possibly
the greatest lover: bottled with misery, absorbed in happiness, living out a
wheezing contradiction—
so hurt, so healed, made of antiquitous
armor; an aged old death, knights fighting by sword, a battlefield with
Precious there, right amid—sinning her angelica—
so ghostlike, sore a phantom, too gorgeous
to unleash: made in agony, strumming in miseries, so proud to have died; such a
daisy, a man is warped, he must inflict pain.
so intense, so manicured, brows fierce in
every thrum; to swivet in rage, so dear it lives, shivering by a cold storm;
baffling mere spirits, choking souls,
every ink pen needs to possess Precious.
never to admire, never to chase, like one
would admire, like one would chase.
