Lost lips part like the eye-opening sun horizon, An advent recalling the misty memory of june's air Brightening the hills in our bedsheets with autumn leafed patterns. In the places where my vision lines meet His rays, there extends A celestial sonic boom, peeling back the layers Of what once was evening.
The darkening spheres of my face bathe in the sigh Of your whisperingly swaying lily wrist Wrapped ubiquitously in red and blue longitude lines in pale skin veil. Wandering lonesome in one, I know, is blood pumped From my own otherwise aimless arteries - beating the passing seconds On their dancing pump-drums and announcing them Like guests at a party.
And softly, beyond the cavernous mouth hole of our comfortless comforter Two legs entangled like taffy, teased and stretched at Separation And his cruel scythe-like thought summons. And My eyelashes know they can only bow to you three more times Before Apollo arrives and the two of you elope Off down the mountain.