Love is a mosca biting the aorta.

I clutch my chest to qualm the swarm of egregious sting, translating into certain sentences.

There is nothing to say when you bite the fruit, when the soul is in ravenous hunger...Why not wait until I rot?

My soul will always be old...

Days of everything from spectrums and orbits. Nights without use of the eyes... My extinguished love affair ...

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How the knobs within certain doors fasten their hinges to my ceiling, during the hours of my own apocalypse; bursting into clouds.

Is this not standard for poetry?

Wits of a madwoman, how she writes the scores this evening.

That tattered bell in multitude and proportions, shimmering sequins from out, and beneath her dress.

Constellations within the drawers of the aorta full of notes th...

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First, from nothing scarce.

From the significance in first tormenting light after leaving the dark.

I wanted to mention how love saved certain severances...The blood and clay…soul molded and punctured body of constellations…

How we break free.

How my star falls tonight.

Into the root. Into the wind to feel the soil again. Like his hands wavering the beginnings of sun and s...

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Dark birds hover around the wounds of the mystic. They are thirsty.

I am forrayed emitting light. Swashbuckling my shadow. Descending. Invisible ethereal mist...

The fog attributed to the charm of strangers. Colors harbor the noisy cloud of confessionals.

I feel the foam of ruins. Mirrors with cracked edges. Silhouettes...

Doors sunken within eyes. Sunny shoveled graves. Hollowed out e...

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I want to confess that the last minute is the bell tapered within his hands.

That single gesture of ominous struggle to wring out hazards and corridors. Rusted knobs like knuckles.

Eyelash fringe of frosted root. Cold clemency. Integrous beasts. We are jailed flutter. Inside. Within…

We free one another together.

I search for the maze of divine intervention and wings.

He i...

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They frame me in the milestones. Something like an unkempt garden. I am half naked in blizzards of truth. Temperamental hands unclothe me...

Uprooted.

Because you love me whispers from adversaries blow at our threads. The nature of their beasts forget the importance of their Mothers...Of women. Umbilical iridescence floats away. Kites like thoughts lose strings...

I promise...

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This pain in the darkness…

It came to sudden eve to blaspheme the torment of branch through the quintessential. 

It took through the walls the solidity of ghost stories mending soul with ethereal strings and fire.

The amplitude of dust from centuries ferments in my body as life.

And, the blood seeps from the willow trees within pen as ink.

Playing into fruition heart chords drizzled...

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You enter me like birds with a sonar song to strong to blur.

Your melancholy cage full of soul suffices flew free with fragmented flair to detect.

This flock of ink does not fizzle the fire that singes the feather that the masses may mock.

You are the gusto of tragedy; the one that falls with me into the sea salt stench of waves.

On fire, what anchors me in ruins within the spume of sw...

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