The depiction of excellence. At times it happens. They might worship rhinestones. They might worship nothing. How to exert love without meaning love? So estranged; eating a zillion dollar emotion. (It’s uphill or nothing.) And it must feel good.
The room was packed. Free the dead.
Low hazel eyes. Belly dancing miracles. Amazed by beauty.
What was given? What was received? Years in. Years out. The penalty of truths.
Examining what we call love. It seems uneven. And many reciting it.
I was rethinking about it all; when I come through this ….
No degrees on this one. New rules. I’m learning.
Many writing masterpieces; they know privacy.
It remains alienated, threshed flesh, winnowed brains, just sold an ox.
After a while nothing means as much as infatuation. It remains raw—giving life. I reminisce on features: shoulder length roses, aesthetic waists, an antique anklet.
Taking lies to the grave. I’m not alone. In all the giving, in all the winning.
