into
time, rethinking her delicacies, unthinking my mind. if to make levity, a soul
is inconstant, made content, striking away from danger—a danger he desires,
only for his soul, control, angst, pain is a factor. Tibetan manners, an aristocratic
air, so fit, so managed, so dangerous; if into silence, to have owned silence,
put away, unto a desert island, would two not hate each other?
upon
a fairytale, in a lost land, feeling ripe for seduction, to have loved her face:
apostolic eyes, diaspora pains, or so centered—the margins are breaking. such
tender dry soil, so moistened in time, most friction is overdosage.
kicking
earth, plucking plums, desperate to scream about love, so instantaneous, so
unbelievable—while, we need to believe.
molten
eyes, so afraid to lose, so given to an inner flame; petting an elephant,
satiated for moments, with a deeper drive to soar; holding a tusk, carrying
skies, tugging a suitcase.
adoring
was not controlled, it just arose inside, some activity attributed to mania. a
few in alignment, one skating Venice walkway, one rearranging alphabets:
European cries, European alleys, knowing pains might crosspollinate; as where
souls meet, measured morosity, a kiss becomes erotic—some waltz in souls,
dueling for weeks, only to submit to what can’t flourish.
roots,
brushes, branches: many scruples, beyond our souls, vexed, making rapture; eluding
myself, if in minutes, scared to receive—as needing a promise, as believing in
a human, where it can’t arrive as it begun. too many pantomimes, too many
harlequins, our insides desire many venues.
so,
a soul is affected, laudable, in chase of against his better instincts. by the
tithes of love, surefire consumed, needing her guts, without attraction to
another soul. much vulnerability!
