If not imminence, is it lust?
A need for silence, a want for noise
I ask to live and breathe
But breathe the scent of laced intoxication.
Fabricated bliss in subordinate dictation -
It tastes like blood on the tongue,
An iron will I detest.

Against the color painted hues of false amnesty

In amber rests preserved skeleton supremacy

Montages.

We sank in sands freckled red in sunsets and
Our hands danced like the swirling plumes
Wrought by tides
I suppose there's a time and place to write of
Love, so wouldn't this be one of those times?
One of those places?

We sank in oceans freckled red in sunsets and
Our hands danced like the swirling plumes
Wrought by drowning
I suppose there's a time and place to write of
Death, so wouldn't this be one of those times?
One of those places?

What is to be solidified in imminence?
The Nothing or The Everything?

Wait and
Feel the depth from within the Jungle
Of an overlapping melody of violence-
The water rose and drowned the sounds
Echoing the silence of seven years buried
In a sea of earth, so
It was written as
Ridden steady waves
Split, sparked, spooled by
The written woven
Time of infinite darkness
Like, glass clouds blooming across the eyes
Like a glass veil glazed obsidian- migrant mother stranger
Hunter in the depths of Hell- without without as I have
Leather whipped crescents livid on my eroded
Bones
The water rose and I with it as if participating in
The joys of nascent mother motion ever-flowing

I neglect to confide in what formal formality dictates a causality      
The end

There’s a moon like sunrise in her
Glass clouded obsidian eyes
That twinkle like jewel dew
Drops clinging to wind branches.
Yes you:
An essence under Sunday rainfall.

There was a lack of being until the conclusion:
A murmuration in the night and the water
In the glass and the ship that was slowly sinking.
You sang a serenade.

Here lies a continuation of being.
View it as scenery indifferent to the weather channel.
A silent, exponential inverted sunshine euphoria
Warming the deepest letters of the soul:
U and I swaying outside linear cubic conventions corroded-
We sway like flowering Earth Resonance blooming as foreign

[Sensations]
A toe-curling in the chest stretched intimate at the highest hour

[Movement]
An unconditional syncopation of the heart and mind echoing a
Design as Liquid Resonance - I am that which you are.
“I could cry solid tears. Where have I been all these years,” says

You to reflected I rippling

[Perception]
Never spoken, only written as an abstract entity aware of vibrations
Tethered to timeless stories never read, only felt as I and U in

Reflected them, the missing strangers with a need to be found

[Immortalized]
Twisted eyes, encumbered lips, everflowing knitted letters stuttered. Kissed. Growing from itself a rehearsed mantra embroidered pattern discord. Mythical. The murmuration of a serenade’s evil dermis that feigns thick to tooth and claw, but silences to love as the overture.

Wide-eyed, you and I are a nascent reprise of words cloaked in inked pages turning in the billowing wind.
"Read them to me."
So I read in heavy rain.
From Monday to Sunday.

God's favorite game is playing with my heart.

I.

Muffled horns intoxicate the
Feverish tide of the evening,
The ebb and flow of dusk scented
Lust within the children of night
Turning bliss
Turning in time to the bass
Strumming and the snare rolling
Consummate the morning flight of
The heart in the summertime

II.

Pull and tug on the mind shadowing
The street lights they pace under to
Escape the lovely dream serenaded
By the blues tune of a loveless
Hypnosis - they only know the
Misery, misery, misery following
The lights of city sights on the lonely
Land. Lady Day suffers when morning's
Flight is turning.

The heart in winter time.