Crush

Storms of elation elevate
palpitations beyond real life
expectations into a nation of
revelations fancied by perceptions
drawn from reflections set in scenes
of daydreams that live among the clouds.
The heart screams aloud, while all else
fades to a nagging nuisance.
Truth becomes compartmentalized into
tidbits which draw the nose, but never
satisfy the soul because a whole divided
is less than what must be provided to
align stars properly. And so it goes…
the Godsend becomes abandon’s property.
The crushing crumbles into the
comforts of poverty. Loneliness…
once again, the luxury which cools the heated flesh.
Oh, how you’ve been missed among the
laughter and butterflies, and
freshness of doubt’s lies, where
unknowns give just rise to the green in these eyes.
For, I know you…
You are vulnerability’s fortress,
freedom’s mistress, and
adoration’s seamstress, as you
sew these edges with the strength to evolve.
Such resolve stands highly regarded, especially
when hope has imparted its alter ego upon the soul.
I won’t fold…
no more than I will live without breathing.
My needs are sobering.
Like oak-aged wine, truth sits bitter on the lips.
I am the shrewd drunkard desperately thirsting for a
swallow of veracity in this den of flesh.
Crush dismissed.

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