Utterance

Lungs pitch a wave, alive a tempo, where love is garland,

garden, and life. I see you a rasp to our soul, kneeling at a kernel,

outsoaring self and faith. We love studded in wounds, vocals

alarming both mind and opus. So here’s a dahlia, aspark a light,

craving—fable, fire, and fever. Our debt a web of flowers,

spawn in paradise; and still, our clad is sorrow, and splintered joys.

I love you this physics both mind and soul—ever to fall, fly and

flare. Such chi and tactic a rapid beat, thump, and music; and

ever a cloud, ascending high—a burning ember. Feel a chorus,

descending numbers and numerology—a wealth of colored

pens. My love and boon: our sign is art, death, and life; indeed, we

flee to capture, and grow to fly—ever to witness—gleam and

voice. And yes a night—to shadow day—but never to consume.   

This is birth, kneel, and walk; ever to chisel castles—and ever to

wimble love; else adrift, flushed with death, aloft a dark star.