She
lives as one spinning; but so alive, courted by suitors. Suits amaze her, as
clouded by glory, to exhibit inhibitions; and so gray, the wildest chair, as
composed as the military. He that knows her knows little; but ever for
psychotics, this lavish woman, to sweat on contact. We featured a film, but
ever in private, this woman of a million dollar gown. To see her laugh, as
something rare, this goddess for business; as to climax on commission, this
dream as cold as men, this force gnawing into flesh. It couldn’t but live, this
inner ambition, this febrile drive. I called her heartless. She asked to meet
me, as screaming, You would never know,
as to never see, bent on psychoses. I grabbed an arm, as she drew closer,
eyes as wet as ocean walls. “To see me,” she yelled! The future was grim, to
see her astride, as powerful as mystics—but never a god, this woman of grays,
as ever this power; for faith is science, as science is faith, a book of three
thousand pages. I dare utter it not—this thing of love, as deemed as emotion;
to cry it regardless, to hear the measure, of a deeper love. She waxes with
grace, through hellish tours, to stand as if life is grand. I push to pull, to
gnaw to wrestle, to yank as tore through prayers. Oh to see it, this winter in
summer, the clouds as turquoise ribbons. She grabbed a finger, to suck the
poison, on muddy sandbanks. I knew the power, to love the power, to alter
perception. This love withdrew, to torture the weekend, as to return on Monday.
I took for courage, to live it obscene, a session pulling thorns. She ran for
office, sporting an ancient bracelet, executing elocution. The months are
cruel, this aloof fever, as wild as prostitutes, as fervent as religion. I
grabbed a star; she grabbed a poet; the two are twisted in truths; for never a
lie, and ever a lie, to live it like fools.
