Your deep seated treasure trove of words on love
layeth at the throne and is sealed in a crystal case,
meant to be broken in case
there is an a famish in the kingdoms,
an unquenching,
an unending,
an unfading
hunger for love.
The haybarn of mild prosperity.
It transitions with frequencies
ranging from the cosmic dimesions of the galaxies
to the unforgiving, mauve depths of the ocean.
It resonates with my ambivalent soul,
at an existential level
as thy velveteen buds
are of my photvoltaic stem.