Sunday, March 8, 2020

Some Create Fire


—so acrobatic or such faucet beauty where a man forgets reality;

 those bold glances or a treat by excitements so fevered or uncultured; volts racing by an elevated pulse while to touch electricity; a true woman a feather in a cage where life is rhythmic or tortured or afoul by so many ideals;

to force upon others what I cannot live while smiling for Love is shackled; our narrow egos our super-imposition after something only a mother could surrender; for mother is asexual and mother is divided while a woman is both blessing and curse; so fragile but enormous or so coquettish and standoffish; but a fair deliberateness so estranged from our bodies or so instinct that each person seems like love—

this miserable access those flaming arcs to have lived so close to home.

I remember Love was angelic—
or petrified or a pure liar; to need myriad admirers
as to hate competition
where one is better off in wells—
those closed eyes this wall of puppets
these shadows as screams by dementia—

I imagine for others the sweet determination where every emotion is shared; but I dearly wonder when appeasement is desired if Fire runs to Waters,

—but permit such naivety, this alarming couple, those aesthetic and charming heirlooms; so destined for skies so alive in webs with child or children those dramatical worries; such theurgy such theses so tragic its so beautiful; at music and melody at resistance and submission where he might die if conflicted; this core essence this lithic  concrete while flying and sketching or living in order to prepare; those first eulogies this framed volcano so concerned drawing nearness; those fishnets those sexual whispers where it feels righteous; our social constructs as needing freedoms while we must wrestle inner flames—

to have adored the beloved to have sacrificed for family or to want more than need.

—some buy in bulk, others buy what’s needed, where others need variety; as deeply insecure, or dearly amoral, where devastation is not a big issue; but this couple, they die beauty, if not utter romance;
they cherish like doctrine, they adhere to their religion, they rest close together—

I’d Save The Reader Years

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