It gets dreary; feeling life losing luster, told it’s all perception. Giving the best one can offer! Over a five-week argument, sheer devastated, asking for old minutes, those before time. I was thinking—of why you love him, I was at a loss; not out of disaster, just unlearned, why do we
love? And no remorse, fully trusting, to approach an altar like a child. I never fathom each message, fueled by each lesson. Such a wrecking ball; such to devour disputation. To feel that feeling. It remains unnamed. Love falls under misnomers. To see again. As never to lose that
feeling. This is heaven’s work. In seizing opportunity, an indoor rider; going through life, never a warning, arms reaching, offering security. To see vulnerability, entrusted with innocence. In preservation of love, palming ashes, intimate rituals. If let down, the world stops moving. I
appear in her eyes; she implodes in my veins. Everything I do! I seek an ideal. She seeks a last name. Like science in my feelings. Like religion in her arts. In knowing God. In keeping her secret. Hoping against the universal. I used to hit the gas, staring into skies, moving gracefully—
those words, seeping into the gut-phone, knowing—it’s true to sanity, trying to have what many lost. Reminiscing. Aching self-government. Listening to faiths, kneeling in spirit. Living by codes. Getting up in age. I keep saying that old time thing, “I’m going to regroup.”
