Maybe over merlot. Maybe ignoring Acts, demanding action. Maybe it was never a correlation. Marvelous eyes, terrific scars, laughing over a tear. Hushing each other. You got to see it, Love. Could easily lie, something to clarity—it reads differently. I see freedom; it’s frolicking with desperation. Something naïve feels grown; something grown feels insecure. I was taken by it, specifically a dream, wasting debris, it keeps raining. As if Love was knitting us, fueled by ash, mantic screams, withering into one expression—ain’t much love, feeling attributes, aligned with one claim … if adoring skies, lively wealth, if only it was correlation. I still slide down heaven, asking, why not? threshed inside, looking at configuration. It never meant eternity. It might mean everything I can give. Those with debate; those with frets; in loving what ails us. On borrowed time, trying to wrought a miracle. I was loving you. You despised me. I turned away; you sent a star; such radiant fury. Our confused lives, our elastic wiles; as we pass through portals, visit vortexes, such velvet love letters, such lotus passion, pleased to feign justice. So amazed at it; right in our intestines, in reality, nothing goes into us. It will never be what souls imagine, what spirits yearn for, souls are withdrawn, the youth is winning!
