Page to Page

Let us swim love, somewhat lost, drifting through a dell.

I see her living in books, a bold seductress, chanting

through souls, dearly immortalized. I think and pause,

ever alive, filled with kef. She stands in sheer glory, a

falcon of hearts. Even Nietzsche’s enlove, writing prose,

fraught with fever. Something’s electric, walking wires,

a wind of fey. Such a voice, reaching from a page, as

potent as marijuana. I feel her and tremble, soon to

whisper: I mourn love. She forms a vision, paralleled with

beauty. We walk through valleys, wishing for a city—for

a shopping spree. Her laugh shakes an earth, flooding

multiple journals. I rub a brow, and touch a chest, ever to

fantasize. Often I meet her holding hands, lost in affairs.

She winks, a hint of plans, gambling both mind and soul.

Pages speak a mythic life, colored in possibilities.