Some traumas make it easy to surrender. Some grayness is harder to ignore. (Do we speak of love with honor?) I deviated, whereby, it seems all related.
In knowing you evolved, surpassed me, led to intimidation.
To feel a caveat; to sprinkle treacheries; to imagine love, nonetheless.
I was with a lady’s book. I kept flipping pages, reading lines. She exhibits genius—to speak of something unrelated, waxing with intensity, tucked brilliantly away in insanity.
One must be, as they say, off.
Such crisp sentences. She exhibits what most chase after.
Exospheric lineage. Celestial idyllic.
Wildflowers.
So studious. We say, holdable.
Both snails in jumpsuits; absent of some thoughts,
framed in our existential.
By an impulse, so receptive to the Ransom—each grain is sky fiber.
We impugn each other, motives, acting against liberty—geometric photography, esoteric silhouettes—to have met a voiceprint.
So great in stock … to know he wept.
Such a remarkable cup, so tender a thought—sifting through crops, wrestling under soil, transgression made acutely.
Religion. To engulf senses. To lean into it. Unanimous affliction. Empowering Ascension.
Sudden joy is recognition of joy’s absence.
Pooling prayers. Amassing debt.
Affixed at a Golden Gate.
