"Pressures of Normality"

The endless banter of a forced romance sours perfect passion.
 
I wish to raze the expected gifting of defined commitment. In the beginning two colliding fascinations meet to satisfy the other. These tell all moments , over time, become pragmatism. This struggling pace demands the death of emotionalism. Faint and hovering the slow and sulky exchange occurs. A barren remembrance displaces the seat of  torridity. Together, the wanting and the wanted die for the sake of what once saved them. 
We must reject the need to explain what is indefinable! Slow by instinct careful hands trace their lover's profile.  How do they know their destination, scaling every nerve without even a brushstroke?  They shift briefly toward the ether, trusting, just trusting. The distance traveled just before first embrace ,an aligning of sorts, feels like breathing in a minor key. 

There are no words or human expressions that relate the marrow of all things. First snow, in the minds of children, is their proof of an amorous God. They bless the night sky with words like prayers before they sleep, hoping for the white hush to come. I have myself stared in to the gleam of a sulfur street lamp begging the bluing clouds to kiss the orange light with more than a drizzle. 

In the still of me there has always been hope for no reason at all. There has always been passion for some missing piece. In the still of me remains a push to view the fringe that outlines some indeterminable self portrait. Be it good bad or indifferent, the truth is I don't know why and there is magic in that mystery.