It seems so impetuous, desiring higher senses—its longevity in brevity, its depth in shallowness, its kiss in a whisper. I could in a flash, to adore one broken, to accept life on debated terms; the fire in us, the flickering flame, a dahlia, a daffodil, a planet, Love!
Something might go astray, nay, it’s destined to hurt.
I try to remember good times, it seems miseries are bolder, & living ain’t easy!
The rain is purple, nay, burgundy, nay beige—flowers are talking, joy is in bloom, we ignore ourselves—the violet agonies, the turquoise happiness, the welts & kisses the fears & love. Some type of future. Something too new to be real. Such surreal mysticism, a silence to it, sore loudness, a flamboyant ache:
a soul walks aside a fence, counting fowl, admiring hedges, looking unlike he feels; a spirit in passing, a passerby, holding a long-debated talisman. He learns to hamper expectations, to miscarry his dreams, to observe skies, with wishes forming, to snatch himself back to reality … so vehemently, without mercy, so violently—he falls.
