It would be one preserving innocence, forcing some reality. Indeed, to enjoin hells. Treasures aren’t enough. (I desire a feeling.) If to oblong experience, if to suffuse an empire. Loving is mysterious—mountainous terrain, ravines, ravens, and canyons. Trekking has been excellence, terrors, betrayals. I would exult a pedestal. As if some aren’t human. These were exhilarating days, hampered by darkness, sweet enlightenment. Pure existence; purer resistance; afraid to report reality. A cage for a lover, roaring for a lion, after something as it evaporates—one gripping vapor. Such decent rain. Such indecent apathy. (I would forget about human instincts, infatuated fully—
Phoenix furry.) Liking words. Conversing incognito. I stand in effervescence. I appear to senses. I drift into portals. (Such presence; to fall forward, to look evenly, part imbalanced, asking that it be removed.)
Born with tension, or fretting boredom, or afflicted by aspiration. A soul by swords. A spirit by prayers. So convoluted; Love seems disgruntled; Love seems tugged.
Love swore by earnest pride. Love gave herself, her soul. To sit in a space. To remeasure a feeling. To pursue silence.
Such incarnation, as into a life—
Ferric anima.
In giving by accordance to self, difficult pains, sleek whispers. I would to see some charm, reality headed to an ending, skiing emotions, conflicted anxieties.
Uncanny truths, frantic perception—raspberry skies—if and only if, some crestfallen cadence, an art in bone.
Such a deficit. To see with accuracy is privileged. With looking at self, we see inconsistencies. I would to have some kinship, a difficult minded arrow; thus, aiming, pensive targets, to forfeit an enterprise.
Cursed as it were. Blessed as it is. Intense religiosity. Rippling!
