This is sweetness.  This is convoluted

Sweetness.

An amoristic embrace into

The somnambulistic saturation of life

This is how our feet move together 

Relentlessly in separateness

In despotic eternal quest 

For artificial coalescence 

When we two meet

We two part

Such is the magnetism of attachment

Drawn together by connective energy

The approach will shock the vibrancy of the metal 

To thrust us apart 

I know within.  Deep within.

That I could never thread the needle 

That I could never 

Immeasurably intertwine

Without pugnation 

Without internal resistance 

To keep the landscape 

From being sullied by the expression of your primal fear

Immersed in despotic prevarication

In a desperate grasp for a connection 

You would only try to turn me around 

To re-assert me 

Into abstract dis-indifferentiation 

To make me swallow glumly 

The thrust of your desire and affection 

You would seek out depths 

That we could never reach 

You would tie yourself and me

So that we would plummet and fall 

Together 

Arms flailing

Mechanistically

Like turtle fingers 

Releasing in and out

Through this moribund shell 

There is no sense of looseness 

When you would seek

To eternally abide 

There is no eternal integration 

We are only sadly drawn out

Patterns in the sand 

We cannot eternally abide 

Our patterns would be washed away 

With the incoming erasure of the tide 

Do not choose to hover aimlessly

Outside the tortured circumference of my soul

To play daily games

With dice and cards 

Creating a mismatch 

Tented warrior encapsulation 

Where patriarchs would attend 

With admiration 

Just to watch the pretentious unraveling 

Of this one-of-a-kind

Overwrought theatrical show

It is playing out just for you

Because you would seek out

Perpetual attendance 

Of this finger puppet display

Pretended patterns of time 

Calling out time

With inglorious temptation 

You for me, I for you

Us for nothing

Vacancy for everything

Call and response

Only because you would linger

Aimlessly, restlessly 

Attempting to accord some universal hibernation 

To what you thought you could become 

Because you have placed iconically 

Structured mirrors 

In patterns around 

The stage exit

All of that is just disguised 

Because it is the truth of this 

Fantastic plethora 

Of imagined lovers 

Of Tristan and Isolde

Labeled as miscreants 

Societal assassins

Seeking refuge on the jutted 

Isle of Anglesey

To shelter their 

Pretentious, sequestered love

From the gavel of the knight sword 

Their imagined love would not survive 

This torture of the present 

Floating life

This is sweetness.  This is convoluted 

Sweetness.

It would not survive 

The oppression of attachment 

Do not choose to denigrate it

By the confused direction

Of what you thought would be 

Ordered life

There is no ordered life

There are only meandering patterns 

Of this haphazard love

Do not dilute it with expectation 

And you and I 

We may yet soar 

There may not be tethers 

To gird us down

To erect conundrum obstacles 

That we would never see our way

Around or through 

This is a connection.  This is not an attachment.

Do not choose to bind us down

And we will never have anything

To escape from

No convoluted sweetness

Only the rapture of this cleansing air

If you would choose to breath it with me

We would roar like lions

And there will never be the tethering time

Serendipity awaits those who would choose 

To live without bonds