By Glance

It’s the miracle of screams, to meet by glance—this hopeless love; whereat, is pressure, this jimpy affection—forever her dreams! I lunged at life, this sober rain, to analyze intuition; but how to vet, this dangerous affair, manipulating chi. We strive for deepness, this gulf of emotions, composing a thetic masterpiece; where quaffing is legal, a soul of burgundy eyes, aflame that fatal kiss; to pardon infraction, if so be our test, or else, to feel such friction. I saw her—this different woman, as kept as decency; whereby, this prose—even this smaze, sorting through soot and sugar.

I heard a voice,

this interior voice,

this interior flood.

It couldn’t be real, this dropping of hearts, as to pause for seconds; as yet it lives, this inner connection—this saintlike affair; where wisdom cries, as to feel for boxes, as wanting to adventure life. It’s a hopeless dream, founded in a phrenic fuse, as to misinterpret love.

Dig not the sanctum, wherewith, are passions, and, hereafter, is tragic; but this is love, as put together, where others take notations; but what of years, this desert-like affair, when love was hard to reach? It’s truly a miracle, where others mold a vessel, as to lose a vessel; where times revert, a batter at base, longing to return; for home is comfort, this place of love, as conditional as blueprints; wherewith, are morals, a tier of standards, to restructure self.