I might
lose pieces of myself, or find someone, so dear inside—it always hurts. the
behavior of ostracism, the alienation of the soul, a man startled by his sin.
one made intense, or sudden into remorse, for I misunderstood my participation …
where one is the victim, fretting the lies, believed to be the agitator.
meeting those palms, so gravid the curse, never explained, why we perish. the
church of the soul, running to the altar, uncaged by confessional worship. so
much pretend involved, until meeting one, so absorbed by it—she carries a glow.
the phenomenon is alluring, capturing, most want the holy halo.
off
around the corner, is a most precocious maiden, so persuasive, so mean. I want
her like needing sustenance, the probability is low, the occasion is ripe for
failing.
such
behavioral insights, the psychology of infatuation, like I never seen her
behaviors.
some
terrible conclusion—freefalling faster—some savage melancholy later; at tears
for damages, hating a smaller version of self, never to fault, for we never
loved.
some
complete phantasm, some otherworld, to have dined or sinned, into salvation and
winds—like kids made older, adoring the one I never wooed.
just a
picture inside, a magazine article, a paragraph, as more would fantasize:
bolder, terrific soul; so made for more than my vision; as promised to life,
art, and rain.
