You
speak a presence found in roses, a newness with growth.
Its
antiquity this yearning; for something kept sacred,
without
in-betweens as personal as heartbeats. You fair a
beauty
to live through flights a dahlia’s soul-quake. Your
voice
an electric arc, to generate something pagan. Let us
feast
intoxication, if for must a return to pain.
I
feel an allium-roseum seeping into birth, a kiss of sorrows.
We’re
but fireflies to journey for purple found in graves. I
leap
through jaguar eyes, affected with black magic. Your arms,
glazed
with peach fuzz, as alluring as naked stature. Such is
picturesque,
a rocket sensation, for sickles a torch in souls.
We
chime as see-through crystals, even an esoteric mandala. I
hold
for breath a kef featured in sculptures. Your gait, a pair of
gazelles,
even twin mares, a gallop through God’s mind. We
nestle
begonias, to spell out passion, falling for destruction.
