I tried to remember
waves, absence, presence, and future. I tried to inhale each memory, with time
depleted, obsolete, plainly, it doesn’t exist. I’ve touched rain, palmed soil,
fought to sustain you.
Each thought is elegant,
sophisticated, raw, and muddy. So much meaning!
I tried to ignore flame,
resonance, artistic aesthetic, the crime of forgiveness—those hurting again.
I would lie to call you.
I would sigh in completion. The first person reigns this missive.
In days with edges,
cliffs antagonizing, fringes painted in deserts.
Years have passed. Dear departure
grows closer. Most natural insistence, most insidious design, to have much to
leave in measure.
The dungeon of psyches—walking into light, hurting from
illumination, everything believed is challenged, sick over reason, logic
proving overbearing.
Like heat to frost bitten toes. Like coldness to a child.
Like fighting to win and losing. Most excellent essence, paved in truisms, a
soul desires to listen: an account of roses, breath made of diamonds, sweat the
taste of eternity.
I missed you today: caveats to a smiles, weakness for an
antagonist, rhythms inside of acoustics. By timbre of eyes—torn in agonies,
adorning the palm of giving; terrific passion, ecstatic pains, to feed on, a-thirst
for freedom—its misery, its joy, made in creation a domino—to fall in sequence,
enflamed in curtains, to drift aside infinity—wilderness, welkin sin, to be a
spirit in the tongue.
“I know you” was said,
asserted as truth, far the dream, the essence, so resourceful, when seahorses
give rise, ocean fens, nights listen to silence.
