No amount of love compares to your kindness. And let dungeons be gentle—as we surf waves, embody hertz, too much to breathe. Feeling you in my heart, debating a flaming future—as casual creatures, impartial blasphemy; something said would haunt love, would kill parts, thrown to throes of passion ... if to fever in time, to share forbidden ambrosia, goddess of gods, electric fantasies. Fire as it churns. Undulations as they vibrate. Pure value; let it never diminish. Mother of all that’s beautiful; angel of all divinity—sensual elation, cemetery tears, palatial gardens. In chasing to perish by lust; in adoring by ache—it enthralls. Do suffer me—fueled for emeralds, bejeweled for angst—O heavenly nightmare, poetry for its own sake, roses and hay fever. By your utterance, by touch, to need essence. Such unconventional diamonds, to pardon such love. So much a frugal word, so deep in meaning, wrestling with deaths, caged or flying freely; tender emotions, rabid heartbeats, pure wicked kindness. To hate in one breath what makes life good next breath. In capturing devotion; in rationale, remote activity, losing what a man begs for; poetry for its tragedy, warmth for her furnace, kiln as it levitates. At a bridge, laughing unbeknownst to self, conscious, nonetheless; giving all to sustain it, radical passion, desperation eyes. To have loved in vision, to manifest nemesias, such raw anxiety, one departing climax.
