I understand with rain impending. To give a soul rope.
So naïve, so restricted, blaming choices. If it occurs, if the sun glistens,
shining my way, it will come by debris. Situations are epoch, the best folding
through it all. The torch flaming, filthy at dungeons, to look deeply. Much
bile, ocean frequency, otic embrace; to hope for closure, to feign terrific, to
know hands are writing one’s future. If to look closely, a person is not
affected, the edifice is built, and they stand upon it. We feel redemption, if
only to imagine, nothing seems sacred—an intimate relationship, courting
Spirit, a soul after her heart. Jackknife fire, flights of ecstasy, to realize
something too daunting. It’s a different topaz, a gem in seas, so green and
innocent; like a dream, to unpack intentions, to enter with all to give; a
silent mistake, with Love doing her excellence, trying to believe, felt inside
of roses—we’d weep if and only if; we’d laugh if and only if; triangles, more
into reality, to feel anger, to fret nothing, to hope all are made wonderful—knowing
what we fathom. I made decisions, they belong to me, I ride the atmosphere, I inhale
my damages. I’d hope in sameness, when perfected shows admiration, when ghosts
take form.
