It’s Ever to Love You

It’s the fear of knowing you; that intimate knowledge, forever unseen; as green the lands, filtered by silence, a frequency overwhelmed; so more the volts, as accustomed to rain, this link of feral fires. We speak of death, this intimate war, enlove but one essence; for one cherished, a diamond of love, this platinum flower; as us so beige, split as legends, ever to keep you near. I break forth in joy, amused with patience, as weak as a fallen kiss; to fly your soul, as greeted with mercy, the hectic outcome. It’s ever your name, the Braille of flesh, the welts of your mind; as one embedded, into something afflux, the silence of the deepest moments; while baguettes twinkle, upon fingers of bliss, this kiss thrown for seas; as two knitted, from marrow to bone, bleeding the great trauma; to live but one soul, the motion of music, wine, and tender this reach; as one enchanted, streaming as mystic manics, enlove with sheer essence.       

We live in seasons, like deciduous groves, haunted by our last autumn; as to hunt for joys, captured in segments, where life was altered; wherefore frustration, this internal chase, pausing to receive—as sheer perfection, a steak cooked rare, a mutual fever. It’s ever this light, our panic of tomorrow, as needles to a spine. We passion through energy, this shorn delight, gassed by a fervent gaze; to culture as if invisible, that star of hearts, as a gem leaping to catch you. It’s the fear of knowing us; that cryptic knowledge, forever this silent muse; to simmer in vineyards, somewhere a soulcave, as one smitten with infinity.