MY council of twelve: is not her mind
like the glint of precious stone?
Unshaped by this era of time oh her soul!
and by your magnificient mercy, for me.
The voice of so many tumulteous nights;
her hands; hair as braided by angels
her constitution is testimony to God’s
or perfect days cool and kilted
I am perfected constantly by her love
while within all my life and confusion
her arm and hand slips inside it all
and i am deeply delighted by the feeling
of her feathers and soft breasts upon
my heart — a special moment always
in pregnant delight by the Great Sun
within her future’s womb.
:: 10-13-2017 ::