Peaks of our mount exel rate at 160;
through heedless threats of exhaustion, wilfully, reckless,
curves of pavement untouched as we intertwine, curvature of spine,
sinew stretched across shared bones; plasticity is rated ex,
climax the mind, endless creativity,
climax the spirit, speaking passions, hearts stutter,
climax intelligence, roadmaps in the dark they swell,
climax of art peaking passions further than lovers inside,
genius is for living on the canvas, entranced by words
lit on fire as one progresses in their craft,
rituals of creation, shaping words without form
into strings of glittering diamond, forever bound,
letters unfettered, our desperate ghosts of concept,
conceptual undertaking; the undertaker —
whiplash — released,
felt in indescribable pressure, caged in a vessel incapable —
we do not show our truest art, we merely represent, form.
We satiate our stories, A to zero;
the unleashing as we climb into absolution,
dissipate, in heroic gestures we sequence our will,
de-constructing walls, climbing the absolute.
Point zero, grab hold of frequencies in the ether,
adjust and receive — paint the oscillation first inside,
connect and transmit — outside it explodes when ready,
the unreveal; sarcasm aside when Van Gogh shaped the night_
stars flowing like rivers caught by living light_
Far away one is led by invisible hands, nurturing
dichotomy in Jungian metabolics — have you given yourself
to definition… or does your byline hang in defiance?
Have you served your title?
Midnight stands no chance; art pulses through hands, one loses control,
the edge is near in sight; 200.
Engine idles… swirling bleeding thoughts without title -
the body informs the thinking mass to speak a defining phrase,
but naming a creation, itself, gives birth to the unknowable change,
a color tint across true hues, Starry Night in red? So titled,
can we even know now what its true genius, is?
Art pulses through hands, stroked, caressed,
one loses control, reading the finest, the heart re-organizes,
sweat beading the face, orgasm yes, edit living from the self,
combining the self, overcoming the self, enticing the reader into
the web of your being; spilled blood over screen it is sheen to thine eyes,
shines forth, curvature into 250, speeding through the craft
oh, but the draft.
Inclinations to withhold, expression of wilderness shake your inner core,
wishing to share more; combining formulations with the one who received
your piece, undulation, perforation, one has learned a portion of thyself,
it is time to share your story,
do not withhold,
my hands are shaking
to taste your world.
At 400, I am absolute, redline, you shall no longer find;
driven off the edge, climax, peaks and regret, ardor reset
drift into the underworld; I spill my being into the night,
fortitude in consolation, take by your vibration,
I rest, having given all to this world, innate, consummate,
inclined, and entreated, embrace the transformation;
there is neither need for consolation.
Also published in Literally Literary: https://medium.com/literally-literary/climax-77d4eb128921 by Heath ዟ.