I have an issue in a problem secluded in a mistake. It
was roses, diamonds, to sin in you; it was forbidden essence, passionate redemption,
gifted for ignoring passion. I sense it has passed—the terrors, those waves,
all into another’s eyes. To have adored a mistake, to have loved ignorance,
lacking in knowing and still moving forward.
We’d tether insanity, filled atop mountains, bled and
dry, those with crosses. To possess an omen, to obsess over infatuation, core
depleted, loving how days have swollen. So grand its remorse, so much its need,
framed in passing mirrors. Shrubberies and briers, demons and angels, to feel
upon a nightly trespass. Unto fire to bring dynasty, aloof from drums, fretting
how it aches and churns, with waves in another’s embrace.
