Consummate infatuation: I could never emote like you. To feel depth, to imbue with presence. Each moon breeding pash.
The scents waft; sheer inebriation. Such phantom wings, where souls grow.
To love is to live, as sages insist.
Such sagacity; such sullen sunshine.
With dying to meet you, with living to run from you, a soul is confounded.
The strength of those tresses; by value of broken skies.
Loving a thought of you, hating the death of time.
Such passionate adventures, macro-prayers, silent annunciation, internal chants.
Tepee visions. Aircraft electricity. Looking unimpressed.
Mesmerized by shimmering eyebrows. Scintillating lips. A dear type of repulsion.
Life as a paradox: tugged for pushed.
Cashmere clouds. Threshed sunshine. In needing excellence, in desiring perfection, in ruining existence.
