Rolling in wave upon wave of words. Sentences dressed right, en echelon, like pretty hued soldiers with armor and frills of meaning unfurled. I can see their smiles gleam with the slap-dash of their waving standards.
The gypsy, unzips her paragraph like the Red Sea before Moses; she has rewritten the song of the seducing hand that writes the words, that pens the curve of a gentle wrist, that drains of the belletristic wells of the heart.
All to flow from Egypt through the canyon of the mind, Weathered words, crumbled from the cave of allegory Sliced from the loaf of pharaohs love. Flow on river, flow by leaving green brush in the crags where eagles nest.
Friend of ******, swelled by spells of copulation Hers is the scent that draws the sleeping bear From carnal dreams, dripping blood-words. Bleed for waxing moon, bleed the scent of still stars, oh do I love this vicious bearer of words in sun struck birth.
Die dear gypsy on the battlefield of parchment Expel the reek of your pen impaled body Rise hoary hope on the wind inhaled by God. He who draws her up, heart first Through those once read lips, but forever colored…
Red, red! For they are still read by my heart Hewn homonym from the hue of her lips kiss There is a silent word mouthed in this nymphs holler. And I press my ear closer to that womb. To read, to read… listen please, my erudite heart.