With soil chains, captive lenses, walking into
moonshine;
distorted captivity, soul fire, aloof to feelings.
With grave-markings, with chills, with tomorrow seeming
indifferent;
bled bones, marrow wavering, trying harder to
ignore cadence.
Love struck me, an emotion or such, sober beauty—soul cringing
gorgeous … to know for locks, to need sewing, entering her heart … fraught by
insecurity.
Like magic arts, mantic veins, mystic rites—a mind
full of rebels, a grander illusion, framed in delusions; never met us, flooding
earth, a pair of every feelings—
fleeing rituals, grieving nightfall, nakedness
whispering.
It was hellish, heaving, hooded & summonsed: those
with favor, anxiety without release, love by its caveats.
In loving you, it hurts. In sensing you, it angers me.
In disguise, listening, palming ghosts. To know it’s just for kicks, it means
nothing, like you never felt God. Like life is selfish—made ambitious.
Over shots we might render decency.
Writhing over questions—sutures & scars.
We sense an hour striking, to give all never sinning,
bleeding upon a crucifix—those charms in blood, surrendering to a greater
sacrifice, battling conscienceness.
To adore with patience—to have passion once again, to
know it has just begun.
Most titillating creature, flawless in indifference,
made of pure astronomy.
