How fine is the crystal
of the palace which you ponder!
Upon the weight so parlously,
suppose it’s what you conjured?
Luscious silk to kiss the skin
to smooth away the semblance.
Chandeliers that shimmer
from the ceilings of the breathless.
True passion in the luster
of all satisfied desires.
And a spark in that center
of that sentimental fire—

Mighty fine, I say,
long’s you hide me,
all the mirrors
where the glance really falls
    eyed glint bouncing off
lubricous rocked walls, in cavernous darkness
from just moonlight
our moonlight.