So much was given. So many rituals. We quietly dispel spells.
It felt its part the resurrection the inversion.
Familiar traumas. To notice silence therein—to seize loud glitter.
Mind coils. Intellect rivers. Acrobatic tremors.
And loving was not a challenge. Losing felt romantic. Reality
shivered.
To glide aloft—to phantom midair, to adore despite trepidation.
So cloud fallen, some art made radiant.
Each time mind discredited a soul; each magnificent ribbon.
In living the expansion, reaching for ether, gripping exosphere.
To spread so thinly; to capture so short lived; to have always
the precocious.
The tenderest excellence, accustomed to one last dream. By inking
empires, to envision paradise, one first encounter.
