"surface swimming, sadly", she said..
as she tended to the wounds,
psychological, his head...

he, not like any ordinary man
something he struggled with,
all "the within", take a stand

acutely aware, this game,
in illuminate
betray one another
"falling victim", the material state

how we betray the nectar,
for "the numb"
distillation of depth
for the deifying of dumb

"the average, the obvious",
we succumb
as if no other option
to be allowed, bathe the sun

soak it into our core, our being
rapturously righted, our sight
inner "seeing"

so we settle
and surrender
in order, "fit in"
the inner "patrick bateman",
for some of us
our paradoxical sin

that while we know
there is so much more
we surface swim, sadly
necessity, "open doors"...

that we know, we really just wish,
could walk past
so little here of sustenance
the succulence of sensual
most can't feel, unaware,
devoured, en masse

quantities
that don't demand of the intricate
and so he accepts, and rejects
molecular dissonance

all man made,
these constructs of casual
as the "acceptable" state,
the latest frothing, "fashionable"..

but life, and love, in its "real",
not cliche
as something within him, repulsed
walks away...

then contradicts his true self
for the crowd
and returns to them
once more, while knowing inside,
they cannot see him, his "proud"..

attempts to lead them
somewhere, more mysterious
more magical, meaningful
as if he, only hearing this...

yes, it is possible, to transform,
"only knew",
as in, "if they", could listen
see the signs, touch the truth

yet he knows, most can't
so he self betrays, he, then swallowed
by his sense, obligation
the wants and wanderings,
hearts wallowed

in their wants, their needs
who they demand, he then be
"invisible-ized", again
he somehow, convinced, "true self"
must recede...

to the background, the shadows
and be the light they need him to be
as his darkness, it seeps into "her"
the one, the unexpected, found he

in a space and time, quite strange,
quite magic
he both embraces, rejects
her understanding,
his "tragic"..

all the things that another
"not supposed to love"
in him, "she just did", and does
no end, his mere presence upon her
enough

the embodiment realized
and actualized, in her
not a fabrication for
the glean, guilt gestation

just to let him be,
all that he is
how it excites, then does scare him
as to run, said so said he,
"gifts of man, numbed"...

yet consistent is she,
to his insistent inconsistent,
fires, flees
no rejection of him,
no matter, scrawled in silence
his "please be sick of me", plea's

simply "always there",
he, aware
he captured her heart
doesn't know what to do
with her "bare"
and so he runs, and so she walks
in honor, his inherent
immeasurable illuminant
"can't forgets"....

....all the things, in soul silence,
she knows
that she hopes, one day
calls him back to her, shows...

not all, so surface swim, sadly
not she,
to the deep, in divine
she awakened one day,
to realize, hues of heaven, haunt he

as do they her
and so, all this concern, care
born in worth,
bound, this earth...

of having lived, loved, lost
enough, know the difference
between something, someone
"just more of the same"
and some "one", something, unfathomable
his electric, delicate, then demanding,
"sweet incredible", engulfing

illuminance

(there is nothing wrong,
"hand in glove",
if somehow he could free himself,
the "suspect" soul,
the "expected of him" role
let the heart rise above
the "should" of surface swimming, sadly
and just....be...truly loved)


bowen hart roselli
2 may 2020
ringwald love