I spurn a kiss, self-centered adolescent, undressed in
personality, redressed in desire, a past filled with infidelities; either
afraid of love, manipulating mind, or soul deep in surrendering; a cage for spirit,
a bible belt for assertion, love like me, or die like me, or walk away from me.
Like a small town with a secret; like a musician with a scream; like trying to
break out of flesh. Spurs into horses, maximizing performance, despite, causing
irreparable damage. If to love, if to hurt, would life turn to us? Sound
travels slowly, it appears like a whisper, to kiss one first time; frozen seas,
firework skies, to do only as one permits—blood jazz, terror blues, ontological
proofs—like dying was illegal, hiding under tables, pushing lines into weather.
If I were closest promise, scriptural evidence, conviction in treasures—to again
die in arms—the frame of the ghosts.
