strange
as i ebb along this
plain
i call my days, my nights
where hope is the opiate of my
temporal aspect;
she's gone awry, held me at bay with
mere smiles
an evolution of obsession
wrought
affectations and gesticulations
driven to aggravate my hopes
WITH THE OBVIOUS
i hoped for astounding
i decoded equations
functions of our aesthetic nature
none are co-signed
thus are my nights defined:
ART OF PHILOLOGICAL RATIONAL
and that means to love is naught
tied two identity is one
ALL IS FORGIVEN
and the days follow the nights
where suns have hidden