One might assert—there ain’t no love … in a world yearning for love. Some version of it, left to one’s orientation. The days are warm, so are the nights. I don’t will on you what you will on me. It gets to a point where rationality nudges us. We make a conscious effort to ignore it. Time is borrowed. Stars seem immortal. Preference has destroyed kingdoms. In knowing rightness, despite losing sunshine. A distant soul, losing pieces of belief, and it seems inordinate—but it must have hurt: not all will cherish maxims. In losing self—to see firebrand, kicking into underbrush—rethinking, still hungry. And it has garnered efforts, too much to put to sleep, why be apart from one you’re carrying. I don’t sense much. I’ve a certain slant on the matter. In showing what one will miss, drove one to asking, that it cease. Seven footprints; seven paw prints; five universes. I should be more emphatic—such longing over twenty-four-hour blues. To give something sacred, to manipulate chi, to need something in return. I imagine a world where souls are conscious, I picture they satiate each other. Somehow—a soul has repudiated it. There’s darkness there. It can’t be what it becomes, with ease of soaring, to reside forever.
