Words dressed in red satin with perfumed breath,
flowing out of volcanos from the foregoing left,
dipped in honey and alluring spices anew,
head right and travel onto Lyrical Avenue.
With their skirts up high and voices low,
calling for another to mingle and grow,
they melt into each other through the starry mist
and recite alluring sonnets sealed with a kiss.
Led by their loneliness and exalting needs,
they rise up and mount their flying steeds,
searching for a new life and a new enchantment,
a new paradise in their new encampment.
They lure other words to come out and play
and make their thoughts break loose and sway,
adding on and pushing them up and higher
as they climb up the mount with words on fire.
They form a scaffold up to the lower empyrean
and lead each other into a fervid dream
and see the heavens unfastening and breathing
and arrows and flowers in the gleaming.
The poem is written, but the end never ends.
It circulates through the hollows of the abyss.