I really truly don't know    
why
some things under the    
sun and sky  
attract and catch my    
fancy  
Quite queerly they    
happen to be  
hot melting smelting    
solids  
that melt into exquisite    
liquids.  
Take for instance heated    
liquid gold  
molten glass or molten    
brass  
and to watch magma    
'neath the earth's fold  
Ooh, I love just about any    
melting mass.  
 
With similar bizarre    
ecstasy and fascination  
I like to watch 
onscreen molten lava  
Gliding in serpentine    
turns, oblivious of my    
admiration  
Ah, I just love all that    
golden molten mass . 

Liquidised metal, liquid fire
I just never ever tire
 
Sometimes I even have    
such an eccentric craving  
to watch just any solid    
beauty melting smelting  
that I satisfy this craving    
by simply imagining  
the honey to be some    
liquid fire gold glowing    
in a crystal clear jar and    
liken it to  
metallic gold syrup in    
the furnace burning  
As if it were stagnant    
mini-lava  
right before me churning !  
 
As for other mesmeric    
things  
that I find real eye-  
catching  
are those which    
everybody else finds    
ravishing.  
And they are in all shine,
in heavenly mould and cast,  
magical celestial stardust  
or glittery terrestrial gold    
dust  
or dazzling diamond dust,
in mankind's metallic    
materialistic lust.!  

Btw I am allergic to earthly  
dust!:)

And the knowledge of the hedgerow plant, I found embedded in leaf veins ... like in mine, etched along blue lines of a notebook. In the ripples on the remnants of water that pooled, before the mudflats claimed them are the striations of  ol'butot near  Naivasha. His stories tell of caves, a gleaming obsidian of a pre historic introspection. Do forty day fasts suffice to exorcise the springs of sulphur or the forced baptism of a flash flood washing six souls to Hades ? The sun glinted at me through a narrowness of fate, a gorge of interminable seconds and I marvelled at the strata of time in a warp, for it blurted out a moan.

Love spoke in nuanced layers of molten flow that crawled to stillness. Can I not say that stone speaks? A couple of hundred years back in time, self titled discoverers  had seen land that had not been unseen by the thousands who lived for thousands until then. So yes, the strata spoke to me, like the striations in the leaves and the lines that were everywhere telling stories of interminable seconds. Time grooves like a death valley in an engraving, etched like a memory of that which has never been, ripples on sand, circles on water,

Stick girl embering,
Lollipop meandering,
Molten toffee trail.

Scented by amorous
reflections of the past

I do not dare
to go closer

Often i repent
about keeping it still

A bearer of dreary hues
that imprisons the now
and drains its mirth

The sojourn of that drape
is coming to an end.....

There will be a time
that we'll stand above and laugh
for the molten strands of the past

Changes and grows and bores -
The seasons, as fall does spring,
Wishing for adventure and fun
When life is repetitive boring,
Wishing for dull and familiar
When life is fast unpredictable,
Discontent with the old taken
New is wished for, thus craving
This will be the human heart -
Always wanting, always depart
Of contentment, and always it
Finds change and changing, yet
Stills for a time enough to rest
Makes way for the new but does
Forget not the old and rusted,
It finds, it claims, it renews, and
It outgrows, rots, buries for new,
This will be its gifted curse living
Until its last very beat breathing
Fickle, want, and sentimental,
Human hearts as molten metal
As forever shifting unto death
Accursed gift of everlasting unrest.