Love has mania. Love has depression.
Love has fragments. —to mend a deserted desert. a dear damaged soul. with
deception demonstrated: feral adage, canine bark, cagey souls: as misty
wilderness, a daughter’s landmark, truth reveals hidden traits. to become smothered,
fabulous volition, caged at honesty’s milieu: dripping passion, sanded fangs, those
years at becoming grandmothers: to hide in ceilings, memoir attics, signet
disgrace. Love as black art, sudden pangs, a woman as ambrosia. to give life, never
enough, to reignite those first few months: fawning nature, passionate ice screams,
whistling persona—sick for Love, dying for Love, to spend days mourning for
Love: dismal positions, crying levity, reality jogs my mind-marrow … prying as
necessary, as too offensive, caring, longing souls, stippling an inner opus.
