If loving is forbidden, a soul will chase love; if
pain is radicle, like leaping a skateboard, a soul will chance and ollie. I
would like to exaggerate, but loving has never been easy, albeit, at moments,
wrapped in excellence, it’s been rewarding. If adoring is childish, return me
to third grade, for in finding, I find I adore. So blue the waves, so brown the
eyes, so common the way we fawn and cherish and placate. Life has binoculars,
gawking as it does, taking notations, giving speeches, causing discomforts; a
soul tries to love, to outwit experience, to agree with a need to love; facing
a delay, fretting miracles, needing a child’s guarantee. The soul craves what
it desires; it aches for its beloved; the soul will turn life into wilting
petals. A person will sit with the soul, imposed upon, mixed with appetites,
the last rites, the new Love, the great vine.
