We
give eternity to smiles, hoping in essence, Love has a beautiful face, an astounding
body. It can’t be harmful to say it. It must be pain to violin it. If loving
you is lethal, the crime makes for excellence. So bashful like fragrance. So intense
like oils. Loving is adoring is tasting silence. The grace you carry—like audible
kisses—swarming or swarmed by bees. Such feverish passion—never met one alike
to you, you knew coming into the excellence. Much terrible foresight. Many
hallucinations. Never touched in so radiant the non-physical. Purple honesty—purple
rain—knowing you heard the sound; a palace of thieves, a gray haired and aged
beauty, so much to delineate the frustration. If it’s love—we might get
prepared—if hell—we might long to love. “Tell us about pain, pain we relish in.”
It’s akin to a strength—in a jar—released and emphatic. Sweet pain, a loss of a
wife, trying to dig into eternity.
