Ovaltine Love Feeling
or
The Beauty of Love
The beauty of love that I feel in mimic of eyes’ slippage
Into the “cubistic environment” of my soul
As if my body ripped the experienced chaos of everyday life
By the deepest of love’s neglected child.
Understanding love as a more fundamental set of dualisms
Translate life into a visual corollary of a word trap:
A perfect feeling like an echo chamber.
There’s nothing impossible: I work with ephemera.
I walk with passion, oar buckets, shovels, etc.
Try to stand with the power of love and artichoke suppers.
Have you waiting for my damn thing or my big star-studded names?
And say love words in language as a damnation of human sensibility into the blinder mouths of politicans?
Otohime 