Protectress...manna, Luna, vulvic-veil,

my heinous highness, take this kiss upon

your forehead and crown.

Tinctured lips, paired pilgrims of our alchemy...

surmounted mount in tantric trust, the perfect

fit for this Age.

We watched each other's will hatch in the palms

of our hands...forgetting to argue who came first.

The rightful bliss of essential ignorance, world

manifest under our noses--roused by smelling salts

from intermittent faints...Love, Love, Love!

You, dearest of whomsoever came forth from innumerable

bodies, to be half-turn to my half-turn...round our world

on its head.

Bar to bar none axes...one string guitars from pole to pole--

played ****** by our fingers.

Corollas of red droplets...the poppies are everywhere, the

child you bore me was me--forcing me to man abandonment.

Caught at the lip of a curb ramp, I hurl handfuls of folly

skyward...as pieces of absence continually settle time.

I apply you to my proportion...Vitruvian Man versed in

your space, circle squared dear--circle squared...the poppies

are everywhere.

Broken down to simplest things, I lay you down, I lay me

down...try both sides of the bed where neither is met.

Just as I cease to exist, I-ness nets a sense of being, bolting

upright as if hearing the world fall.

We who observed continuous excellency of soul, stood

juxtaposed in extemporaneous awe.

How could I expel you, how could you expel me...from

such a juxtaposition?

The "invisible worm" brings tidings of forever before it

destroys the flower...the poppies are everywhere.