Over chilled wines, asking for freedom, begging through silence. To dance, right? To live again like college students. To have life rupturing, to sit aside a fireplace, to gaze deeper, to feel each sentence. It was a miracle those years, beauty brings poetic pains. To mean so much to another, to have that dream, to know for ultimate support. So cursed to love, so desperate to love. It means too much to speak. If knowing each reality. To hold arms, slightly unmeasured. To need to give, to want to fly, to die into bliss. It was never a lie, in a given moment, to have life made simplistic. When pleasing is an art, never rushed, unless … sweet & sour banter, insatiable dialogue, uncured by love. Let rain fall, keeping company, sounds into souls, imbalance kept subdued—to adore flutes, to bathe in horns.
