Tuesday, January 21, 2020

Men Go Crazy for Women


so baffled in chains so English in habits but so Africa in spirit.

if but serious salaciousness if but tales from the crypt if but a built mare losing for us; to die for petite alienation or casual provocative built engines; a man with his pride or a woman dying faithfulness as accused or dreary at such reclusive lakes.

it was hell to watch, this irregular alarm, as she panted or died while forced to retract; so arrogant or so wrapped in tensions while three children later Love is banging; to remorse our guts to refilm our Nintendo at essence blown out of sockets; this electrical Zena this old English enchant while Shakespeare sits in longing nostalgia.

I was a pebble and Love was a desert where persistence struck nerves; the Swim Suit Issue—such performance, where Big Boned Women win tremendous favor; as kits waft or transmissions shift for Love was a skinny maniac; so floored to witness, such creeks whispering, at tears to release after years of begging; our essence bleeding our guts heaving while Love would die to relinquish control.

I have loved and adored women
I have fought for mother, and as cosmic irony
I was blessed with a daughter.

it churns systematically it dies with fury this pensive night by atmospheres.
so confused by instincts so concerned to fathom instincts while we are never certain in this raindrop.
I have lavished Love I have become attentive plus
I ache and perish emoting her days.
I’ve chopped steaks and buttered potatoes or uncaged lobsters.
Indeed, I’ve loved by magic and I’ve reviewed mind plays while pain has brewed and wheat has withered;
to fall asleep in seashells to dust a concrete seat or to spend fifty to win a bear;
into roaring agony or patient reality or to fight for one afraid to break essence;
such sweet downfall,
such lifelong expectations,
watered or encased in doubts;
such heart-war, this sore in tensions, or so warm and
titillated; at tenuous churns such robust amore while never an instance to believe uncertainty;
a truly
foolish man, an ignoramus man,
or too romantic to sense where beauty is overwhelmed.   

I’d Save The Reader Years

    The beat becomes sickness. A long crucible—a drilling ecstasy. I was losing focus, feeling forbidden, if to self, if to mirrors. So curs...