I wasn’t when it was thought I was. In kindness a message is sent, a tender note, casual insistence. It amazes how we mince & mesh meanings; so in need, such curious souls, as we drift through realities. It is what it wasn’t intended to be; it breathes, she smiles, I gaze into her, I see it. So deeply in love with essence, core heartbeats, drums, certain ambiguous cadence. I have thought of flowers for over ten years; I have angered self in thinking about flowers. I never heard you; I was never made privy; I assumed you desired affection; I was confounded, sorrows abound; I sense now the begging, as it’s laid out, it meant to a needy soul more than it meant to reality. Let God be good; let meaning remain significant.
The days belong to each other. They resemble each other. They have language, message & shadow. In thinking deeply, I felt a mind pang; in adoring the thought of poetry, you might deign to speak. It was beauty upon an image; it became hell upon a thought; such insignificance to each other. A whole life would change; begging the question, so grand a slippery slope. To posit some bizarre map, as two gaining closeness, with a feather between realities. To know a kindred soul, to see what I never see, to believe it’s enchanting. Most mediocre spirits, trying upon courage, fenced in by mundanity. So great a channel, flame into segue, too many flowers.
