Desire
Is The Ideal
i wonder at the seas, wander the
deserts, figuring attraction—as it surrenders, promising an ache, so pulled or
hebetated; the pantomime is a lover, the mannequin comes to life, the person
behind the curtain is weeping over love.
the quaking touches deeper. to have
ecstasy, fierce fever, as long as it never dies. immortal eyes, orgasmic eyes,
climactic eyes; drums rolling, shamanic pains, we fly when the journey is incomplete.
so
resistant. attraction grows … something is able to stay its course. at the peak of the mountain, speaking in a
trance-state, echoed internally, the winds swoosh, stirring dust and twigs, in
the distance, there’s tumbleweed and
cacti.
by
commonality souls click. by individuality souls appreciate. by sheer
indifference, souls entertain for a time. attraction means, i live in another
person; i have say-so in that life; I trust that life. some might think the
same.
returning to emotion, running to
feelings, presumed as one for excellence—we might pledge our existence. is it
that serious? we agree to hold hands in public. is that a discussion? each move
is legendary, touching our
insecurities.
we impede upon freedoms, most
willingly, i volunteer to sacrifice certain freedoms. we fight against growing
weary; we select lusts for us alone—we conquer inconsistencies.
Desire Is
The Linchpin
return to us, the faculty in brains,
success isn’t promised; coming to life in us, sandpapering feelings, emotions
sit on high; touch, or beings, as entering existence, the days have
selected us—to dine, tether winds, possess flame, and live
in persistence.
becoming more human, uncomfortably
vulnerable, dredging up skyward ambitions … so concerned about love, a whit by
deaths, the perception of the peak. into caves and petroglyphs, stars coming
closer, sadness at the crescendo of a climax—pain as precipice.
love is war. war is excellence.
excellence is immortality.
what into our second reality – the meaning
of the venom – the purpose of the bite: love is often unbelievable, to know
with uncertainty – the imperfection in one we need perfection! closer at
points, the heart steady at weaving, the mind stitching principles, the body
whelmed in its life.
heavy on the clutch those days;
needing a shocking into skies; ecstasy is not in every stroke – if it were,
would it be kept in arc and soul?
such cadence, aroma, and sacrifice—longing into essence, moments near
reality, assigned to opportunities.
heaven hounds watch the precipice.
moisture is in the air. humility comes with pride. many novels, many heroes, a
romantic heiress. souls in momentum. an inability to un-care. such hurt to make
more sense of the impolite.
when dealing with immaturity, we
don’t expect much, yet, we are still angered. a woman is a rare creation,
notwithstanding, the creation, in a woman, a soul is given depth—in her, the
world is made fresher, organic, approachable, albeit, hostile to us all.
