A mantilla covers, my inelegantly bowed head.
The unavoidable issues that requires attention.
Tears flood my blushed cheeks.
And I know to feel, is to be me in all expense.
My thoughts turn to equal amounts of inequities…
The ever search of am I ineligible?
The inescapable streams of dreams.
My infertility of hopes and wonder.
The moment is innocuous, I know.
Yet the feeling draws inquisitive dreams.
I’m infested with insomnia,
so are you.
It’s an insertion of the inside…
The inescapable flush falls upon us.
When the infallible infatuated heart awakes, yet again.
The pain is uninvited but inevitable.
The strive of humanity is to do just this.
The obstruction to remain the calmness, is noted.
When the inexcusable kisses land.
It’s inerting to life…
How inexhaustible that feeling of bliss.
If only for a lifetime’s fragment.
The freely given insulin,
without a prescription,
drives us to unknown heights of madness.
Raising an eyebrow at the uniqueness.
Naively faulty upon caress.
It’s inrushed without warn…
It’s an insoluble mistery.
The intriguing irruption of emotions.
Words you never seemed to understand,
becomes the constant lines around your mouth.
The inflammable fusion of moods,
that can not be explained.
The jealousy of the heart ponders loudly.
While the careful hands, handle porcelain.
We’re infected with inferno…
It’s an ingredient that can only be inhaled.
It’s a name ingrained for all eternity.
It’s pieces of who you indifferently become.
The indications of indiction is a trap.
But you are blind to the faults of mirrors.
And it feels indomitable.
It’s an ingenious gift we can’t define.
They are our inyangas, in every day.
Our canvasses to express the motions we hide.
Imperceptible is the perfection of this…
Traveling incognito against the world.
It’s consistent incorporated souls.
It’s being born unto the incense of freedom.
The active time warps being alive.
It’s a minute of a minx,
it’s the hour of a miracle.
The lifetime of never ending skies.
It’s implied as an impulse of an incurable individuality…
We are inebriated by indomitable forces,
wrapped by the power of the induna, not us.
The influence, an informal ingot.
We inherit the inhumanity to injure,
but kneel down profoundly to the innocence of this.
We let it in, we let it in, we forget.
We intercede, we interrupt.
It’s intoxicating irresistible.
It’s a prodigy engraved by:
Touches of light,
embraces of depth,
mindful enslavements,
instalments of fragile happiness,
fears beyond instant belief,
humble instincts of passion,
inflammations of words,
cobblestones of smiles,
cogent arguments to be relived,
cognac tastes of bitter sweet desire,
the malapropism of indefinite whispers,
the rightness of an ode to you,
the promises of truth in every sigh,
the sanctifying salts of lust,
the way nothing matters in frailty.
The kaleidoscopic pretenses, senses, offences, essences…
Immortality enticed by momentarily luring endurances.
It’s a prodigy this.
The informer becomes informed.
And I am only,
An illustrator of the illusions of love.
INlove, it’s just violently rebelish.
(546 Words)
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