There’s
a staff, a chance to win, for a child unborn. The
weather
is turquoise-green, for love is upon us. I love
her
like chocolate, even cotton candy, a trip to rivers.
We
sculpture life, filled with fire, to birth a dream. It
was
lukewarm, to feel for wrath, a household of sleepers.
We
awoke, tents of flame—grooms of Ephesus.
There’s
a staff, wrought in fever, to scrape a soul. The
edge
is rough, a starting leap, to float through love. Feel
a
furnace, sorely refined, to roam a desert. We love it for
gold,
a tent made royal, to carry a flickering flame. I
told
her come rain, a castle afloat, a knowledge
root-bound.
Paint
for Scriptures, to decode rivers, as bold as a ransom;
for
love is velvet, a silken portrait, a gown for spirit. Feel
it
shiver, the warmest spool, to thread a future; and knit a
fortress,
a land of mystics, to sing for soaring; and love
for
love, ten miles deep, upon the backs of whales.
