My lips are two needles
sewing moments of Voices
that laugh, scream, and cry
Alas, until the jewelled joy of birds
echo as Ecstasy survives like the mourning
dew as rapturous angelic wings; we cry.
THERE is a fire: it is within all things.
As all which yearn as mating moods like Spring;
It is not the devil within the details but
joy and perfect passion which smells as
young women who walk beneath a summer sun.
/and pity those thrust-minded thrilling things
who yet have to go around again within a ring
called life; divine a fathomed tenderness
of those who do not see or hear . . .
those who have no choice but rummaging through
:: 10-31-2017 ::
:: 11.20.2022 ::