Raw
intervention, if to lose surprises, if to let go. Pure empathy. Taunting by his
body. I was with glory, soon to perish, again in his resurrection. What could
she say? How in hell to make it right? It was feral, disgusting, and rotten
before the first awakening. Such derision, directive and vice—those waves, to
wither, while loving a particular curse—so mild with interpretation, as it
would elevate, to become as surprised as the woman he gave vows. Some matrix,
some art, just let it drift; to touch in esoteria, to remember a different
person, to have thoughts, dreams, trying to gain balance … to forfeit anything,
to adore the one in bed, becoming everything to ghosts and omens, a scar in
some vision. Certain marginalization, Love wasn’t at home, a soul specializes
in last to know! To roll in fury, to plead in turn, to awaken hot, heated, and
heavy. Many phantoms! A soul to his imagination. Forced to ignore even evidence—if
but to function at high capacity.
