Arm trembling no longer holding up.
Spasms.
Pain.
Feverish commotion moved unsatedly. Longing already before their departure from the knowledge of it to come.
Anguish in sorrow of sobbing
and self-quenching.
Two hearts’ Life has been made, disgustingly ripped away
and then at all costs retrieved
through the cold,
shame
and flame of ashes.
A chain memory
gaining its voice,
shaping into separate mind
and place.
I’m in torenness.
‘ve been through a lifetime and act,
never allowed to come back again
to the same (whirl of trepidations
and convulsions).
I tamed yet another fox
and have to deal with the tears
of the ends.
Tear away someone else’s presence
from me
and so shall be no difference.
I’m in hurt as in loss.
Losing a precious to me
foreign presence
will feel even greater
or have I just lost one,
with a piece of myself
alongside?
The binding isn’t locking away
one’s memory for a story,
it is giving them a person
called “Story”
and stealing their porcelain pieces
with its charm and frazzleness.
That’s why I account Literature
into sacralities
of my astrality
and perfect chosen arts of being.
Their non-verbal is
my most cherished music there is
as in Phronemophilia
or feelings,
a form of incalescence and confession made between a pair of words,
plucking the perfect chord
of comprehension
and Heart’s painfully sweet thrillance
and, between the verses,
speaking the ideal maternal language
not yet known to Mind.
As a Book contains all millions
of little aspects of moments,
words,
flesh,
tiny traits,
demeanour,
beginnings
and endings
and middles,
as it throws a wave after wave
of conundrums
of alchemy of emotions,
of all the unnameable things
of acting/being/breathing/affecting…
it is a Person.
One of many supposedly
not ones in Me.
​Sorry, plushie dearies,
it will be the faux-Victorian tale
of volumes and affection
tucked close to my chest
tonight,
you rest next,
aside me.
Спокоиней ночи,
всё кто живет во мне и не.

I want my every lingering or zapping touch,
deep stare,
conscious step,
labored breath
and my given-over body
to be an engaging,
peppered kiss
to both My Lover
and the Universe’s matters
proclaiming
“I see you.
I love you.
I give myself to you solely
and you solely to me.
We’re each other now
and never to give one’s self away
to another being.
I’m done and made,
ready with you.”
An oath.
Vision of a gift and moment to come
for which My Heart will last and last
till it shall be fulfilled.
A bow of teary,
from loving,
respect

In freedom,
madness of beauty,
I love all and nothing,
every member of the space surrounding, so much
and extendedly
that I come to tears,
my physical demonstration of overconscience.
I am truly and on all the planes
a Lover.