in search of a love poem [that hangs in walls of silence now,in the dreams of a run past &an endless(?) future]

 
 
worded projectiles  
 
 
[seem a spectacle  
parceled in diligence  
from your dignified  
aristocracies- an  
eternal curfew kingdom
of an eschewed  
eloquence]
 
 
ricochet my severed limbs  
in still strumming dreams  
of streaming rays, a dawn  
 
get bestrewn  
over the nauseating bogged edges  
this noxious blackdermic pool
 
 
there is no more joke or an acrobatic stunt
of an outdated still a full house circus  
in a conservativly compulsive
staged upon  
slapstick comedies
or in an ‘up’lifting  
suspension  
of vertical keratin thrills  
in adrenaline kills
 
nor a boringly essayed response of a mad[wo]man  
 
 
your generosity
in the injected inertness  
works pucca... no wrong  
number in the connected  
dialling  
 
 
'under'stands
your benthic depths in stratified  
word(lessness),  and  
also trapped within them, the  
hard deposited and a bit
of carved out  
‘love’.   Its  
in the  
letting go in sublime airs  
above all  
 
 
blitzed kamikaze elegies  
thrum in hummed romantic  
melodies
in its stroked finality  
 
 
[of an eternity]