Two of you are walking through the door with glass mittens
and meteors purging all speed through a tube of the absolute dark.
And nothing can stop you.
As you both descend, gliding on fumes Sumerian and actually music -
our eyes connect. I breathe your moons through my derelict Paris, frankly.
You lord over all you survey, like honey in god’s eye… asking for bees
that speak fork in all roads that may lead to flowers
that can’t recall the agony of beauty.
your candleheart glory melons…. spilling into bliss accidentally...
with all the grace of a gossamer etude
in the Silence of a mindful desire
paralyzed
by the Love of You.

i saw all of you.