We
want for betterments—this eagle of a psyche, streaming through Sufi chants;
where the tides are turquoise, the grunt of sable-eyes, a parrot pecking at a
soul. We hear the geese, as simple as digestion, to grace a pond. I reasoned
with a polecat, as wild as untamed, to garner a warning. It’s more the hiss,
prior to the fangs, to cause for wincing.
(I drift) I love you for unawares, as aware as a
first argument, as structured as dingoes; where pain is gentle presence, the
essence of halleluiah, in which are
tears; for eyes are flushing rain, the texture of dry skin, as present as an
African lion. I love you for more aware, the tern to turn through skies, as
free as a hawk’s reflection; where to hang, through mid the air, akin to
vampire bats. (I drift) You reckon me wrong, to want for contact,
where venom was pictured. How for this thing—the lightning of sorrow, to know
you wouldn’t care! It would be for ego, to feel for sexy, to love that very
nature. I cried to cringe, sketching magpies, as tempered as a masked owl; where
right is birth, the course of nightshade, to venture a woman weaving; whereat
is silence, to want for taken’d, to give for one season. We laugh at hurtful
mirrors, conversing with treebirds, the feeling of a red fox. (I drift) It was more the peacock, to trigger a
thought, a swan courted by wolves; in which is strife, to watch the blue fox,
peering through deer eyes’. I know not the future, where thoughts are pinkish
gray—the blood of innocence; for hitherto, a gecko pokes for tugs, to sway the intellect;
where pain is beige, the works of parents, to want an equal love. I see for
pairs, to watch for jackals—that most precious heart. (I drift)
