Our
dialogue is love. It saturates every fiber of
flaming
soul. It intoxicates spirit; evermore
I
dwell by its tavern. I sip from its goblet,
dancing
in spirit. It’s by stimulus of
miracles—parent
of eternity. From depth fire’s
soul,
I’ve courted love, inscribing portraits
upon
leaflets. I’ve taken by doctrine,
inebriated
in spirit, adrift seven heavens.
Love
is invasion, permeating psyches,
surging
through causes. I burn for social
face
by love: its depth, its width, its episode. It’s
upon
imagination, as sturdy as oaken table,
intriguing
passions by sun-sin. Indeed, our
dialogue
is love: its reach, its breadth, its texture.
