Behind curtains, to segue into lights, fevered to see it, an anti-need to address it, some elements are unapproachable, they never change. In life to ache over a stranger, to find there, realer existence, hoping to make it back to reality. I sense negation, as never to see it, to sacrifice sanity—holding beyond a grudge. I wake up feeling between. I look at Love and fret the greater hopes; amused they say, framed by insensitivities, trying to maintain compassion. And Love is charming: I listen to hear her; I walk away afraid of impending wilderness. To have believed—to have essence, wondering what in hell souls are selling each other. And Love wishes it wasn’t true; to charter against seduction, animated and failing. To hell with reality; one lasting tryst; encouraged to forgive what loathes itself. In pulling carriages, in riding chariots, in surpassing make-believe, surrendering to a crystalized moon. In never knowing one, like to experience disbelieve, grasping for dear existence. An inherited battle; a rabid crocodile; a need to reset Such wafting sunlight; and they have what was purchased, with dying at every rosette. Waiting as those dream, charged as one wails, stippled by insanities. I never push. It’s good to experience part of the best she offers. Walking into a horizon, eating by sunset, laughing over something delicate, if to bypass, its hurting. Accustomed to making sense of life, wishing nonetheless, quite disenchanted. Those days, when perfection was close, to realize, workers are worthy of wages.
