Suffering
Was the mothering womb

Of all
That is beauty

muse of the night
the shine of the edge

whether you suit
her being in the dark

eventually she is a thought
you entertain

Until she fulls forms
the french rose

out of a musing art
laying by your shoulder

she becomes
the other side of you

Is known to be of danger
Being in love with you

Is the only source
Of all that would ****

Without false pretense

The places
Left unthought of

Some areas of the mind
Left to miss all that is known

Ambiguity learning ambition
Of all fears undone

The special places
Left without visits