We never asked questions, alive and livid, seeking miracles; the pain of evergreen passion, those broken dreams, such acacia and diamonds. I longed to exist in maddening arts, to die one fever into resurrection, if to arise upon a cloud, sipping raspberries. I was sullen those arms, as made for miseries, delicate heat, such was addictive. I must forget inhibitions. I must learn to outwit inhibitions. In life, love is rare, in makes existence worthy of its mayhem; in each dynasty came a fair queen, filled with philosophy, skilled as a geisha. I would meet, exonerate, and esteem beyond seduction; losing rights, angelizing to a fault, to have become detached, alert, and dismayed. The agony of ether, so compelling it churns, so particular one vies for freedom. A man to his shadows; a woman to her prowess; both trying desperately, both withstanding, in fighting to become existence with charms. I was with desire, in seeking goodness, a few errors in spirit, with love seeming impossible. I came across a secret: just enjoy passion while she determines to whisper. Fret not the happenstance: two shared the best of what they could give. I don’t like to speak about love, it comes naturally, as if something inherent needs love. When music sounds through marrow, when symphonies chime across frequencies, such dearness to infatuation; no one needs to hear it, it just is, and it hurts to love through madness, unto pleasures, and again.
