I couldn’t shake inclination, a dislodging instinct. I remeasure all consisting of us. Such a nudging, sweet humiliation, carved excitement. To tuck away silence; to regift sensation. I was ill-gotten, so innocent about it, craving in mid-sentence. You refused to engage, a sign of cautionaries, thrown, for absorbed. I wouldn’t love, nor adore, so captured by sheer resistance. In refusing you, ever tied to hope, drifting into Europe. We leave circles, chanting rites, softer courage. I was a mind made up, a system by cadence, so graphic, so wrought, as raw indifference would have us. So childish; thwart at a battle line, mentally embattled, thrust through by spirit spears. It was hectic. Years with some magic at me. So sullen the machine. A mind filled with pain. So much strength, mere upon meditation; those charms would inflate an heirloom. I remember another person. You two know each other. In life we gossip a little. I was keen to an earlobe, a stream made terrific, a reality bathing in tragedy. So in love, so enchanted, I wonder concerning the great difficulties. It would continue to grow. I changed inside. Beauty upon a cross is made most astounding. Samuel I and II made most aesthetic. Trying to believe you never would, such a curse in activity. Surefire drumlines. Bodies writhe. Minds convulse. Running was uneasy. Catching up was pure infatuation. In needs. Bled dry of identity.
