My world is a great miracle of the senses.
A small island the color of exquisite things
and water blue-twirling-green it almost pretenses.
But miraculous....no– they ARE just pretenses.
Were I to turn the sky to glass, what brick would she bring?
I only know what I have seen and she’s my affirmation.
I will sacrifice karma, aeons of incarnations
to disrobe her, reveal her flesh as Theia;
to have her body’s sex for kalology;
for ‘Euryphaessa,’ wide-shining merge with me
I love her, lover pure light amaze,
taste her benedictine, oracles in her gaze
that show visions of an episteme.
Wide light, pure-possessing, she gives me
faith in a lost world, appearing like a vagary
of criminal kittens in the guillotine.
Let the beheadings reflect artistic expression
and the dream of the man in the dream of depression
change boring lives to dreams in wabi-sabi.
Home was anywhere you and I together were.
Lying on your back, I kiss your tumescent nipples.
I rearrange your every strand of hair with
beautiful brushstrokes of ghosts on the run;
trembling pianissimo frissons; urges felt in penitent fire
to soak your silk petal with my tongue.
My journey an unending momentum of verse
through the foudroyant envoi of your mind,
it’s my sigh; our quintessence. We are one
world concordant, we compose our home
in euphoria; I honeycomb your callipygian flesh,
gyrating the silk-white of your wet depths.
The draperies of your thighs, eyes of rain sprinkle.
You tremble in our ardor to expatiate faith: our avatar.
My adorning muse, my lodestar.