I’m
small a vessel, to feel consumption, and wrestle my life.
I
see a vision, where something drills, to flood a chakra; for
life
is teal, a hint of color, to surface a first kiss. I fall alive,
to
caress anger, to pluck a mimosa; and dear the times, to
love
a swan, a step towards faceless; but more a prayer, to
flit
to fly, to muse a monk’s hood. Its moonflower blues, a
midday
fuse, to mingle a tear; for petit fears, fever hearts, to
blink
an answer. I love her like power, a morning glory, to
story
a life-field. We faint an ache, the sweetest tooth, to
water
a muscari; for heart is pale, to treasure love, a tent for
shine.
The war is pain, to dig a brain, a host of multiple
traits;
where art is purple, a printed thought, a slanted coin;
for
life ablaze, to pigeon a soul, abandoned to love. If only
for
truth, to dig towards tunnels, a funnel through hell; else
to
perish, a desert rose, a poison’s reservoir. The night has
called,
to simmer thoughts, chanting in stillness; and gray
be
love, to hurt a soul, while screaming love. Indeed a tour,
to
filter come beige, to live between—the there and now.
