each day makes loving you disappear
—more objective—a greater tragedy.
each day makes pain taste like
wisdom.
every moment is special like
majesty.
each day passing, I forget to adore
you;
I must be lying, more to adore at a
given integer; mouthing my ego, at
some space, so mature, aside a
tundra.
my soul is heavy with violence—and
chivalry; silent bugs, soul eating
maggots; if to have stopped adoring
the pain, the feeling, the beating.
too tender to have died, so loved
to ax
a spirit; each miracle tears like
tacks.
