Blue clouds gaze the wrapped sun
frozen kisses in my blood
travelling a thousand miles
to meet up with you.

There is none else walking
down this path where memories
wake up and dance
inside my armored heart.

I peeled off each kisses embrace
out of my parched lips.
I shook off the tree,
where your scent had blossomed.

Every step down this scarcely trodden path saw...
Each peel fall with helpless, damsel-like grace.
Brown leaves shone amber touched by fingers of the sun
Invasion of warmth through my greyed bony carapace.

Gentle tremors reverberate within with subtle anguish.
Sweet scented portal that took me back,
To the illusion of time where we once were...
In drunken stupor...laying under a star strewn canvas of black.

Senses that spoke of a great fantastical tale.
You are still here... In this cloying void with no one around...
Only that scent...your scent tugging on my core
Invisible tendrils berthing my feet back on ground.

Alone and wanting don't want to be anymore.
I want to feast my lungs on your skin once more.
I want to vibrate under your touch again,
In anguished anticipation and sweet pain.

I hurl your name to the echoing wind,
Blowing ferociously over the closed passage.
Only to find that I'm but elongating
the distance between our fading wishful stars.

Fading far only to find that I'm lost yet again,
Still harvesting a basket full of ripened hope.
Traversing planes with warped, slanted doorways,
Frantically seeking purchase on knobs with fevered gropes.

Heavy layered breaths inhaled too shallow...
Tracing missteps to decipher what it all meant.
When all is moot...weary, weathered and futile,
Forever I'll be bathing in the familiarity of your soothing, nectarous scent...


Dajena M
**ryn

But some good Triton-god had ruth, and bare
The boy’s drowned body back to Grecian land,
And mermaids combed his dank and dripping hair
And smoothed his brow, and loosed his clenching hand;
Some brought sweet spices from far Araby,
And others bade the halcyon sing her softest lullaby.

And when he neared his old Athenian home,
A mighty billow rose up suddenly
Upon whose oily back the clotted foam
Lay diapered in some strange fantasy,
And clasping him unto its glassy breast
Swept landward, like a white-maned steed upon a venturous quest!

Now where Colonos leans unto the sea
There lies a long and level stretch of lawn;
The rabbit knows it, and the mountain bee
For it deserts Hymettus, and the Faun
Is not afraid, for never through the day
Comes a cry ruder than the shout of shepherd lads at play.

But often from the thorny labyrinth
And tangled branches of the circling wood
The stealthy hunter sees young Hyacinth
Hurling the polished disk, and draws his hood
Over his guilty gaze, and creeps away,
Nor dares to wind his horn, or—else at the first break of day

The Dryads come and throw the leathern ball
Along the reedy shore, and circumvent
Some goat-eared Pan to be their seneschal
For fear of bold Poseidon’s ravishment,
And loose their girdles, with shy timorous eyes,
Lest from the surf his azure arms and purple beard should rise.

On this side and on that a rocky cave,
Hung with the yellow-belled laburnum, stands
Smooth is the beach, save where some ebbing wave
Leaves its faint outline etched upon the sands,
As though it feared to be too soon forgot
By the green rush, its playfellow,—and yet, it is a spot

So small, that the inconstant butterfly
Could steal the hoarded money from each flower
Ere it was noon, and still not satisfy
Its over-greedy love,—within an hour
A sailor boy, were he but rude enow
To land and pluck a garland for his galley’s painted prow,

Would almost leave the little meadow bare,
For it knows nothing of great pageantry,
Only a few narcissi here and there
Stand separate in sweet austerity,
Dotting the unmown grass with silver stars,
And here and there a daffodil waves tiny scimitars.

Hither the billow brought him, and was glad
Of such dear servitude, and where the land
Was ****** of all waters laid the lad
Upon the golden margent of the strand,
And like a lingering lover oft returned
To kiss those pallid limbs which once with intense fire burned,

Ere the wet seas had quenched that holocaust,
That self-fed flame, that passionate lustihead,
Ere grisly death with chill and nipping frost
Had withered up those lilies white and red
Which, while the boy would through the forest range,
Answered each other in a sweet antiphonal counter-change.

And when at dawn the wood-nymphs, hand-in-hand,
Threaded the bosky dell, their satyr spied
The boy’s pale body stretched upon the sand,
And feared Poseidon’s treachery, and cried,
And like bright sunbeams flitting through a glade
Each startled Dryad sought some safe and leafy ambuscade.

Save one white girl, who deemed it would not be
So dread a thing to feel a sea-god’s arms
Crushing her ******* in amorous tyranny,
And longed to listen to those subtle charms
Insidious lovers weave when they would win
Some fenced fortress, and stole back again, nor thought it sin

To yield her treasure unto one so fair,
And lay beside him, thirsty with love’s drouth,
Called him soft names, played with his tangled hair,
And with hot lips made havoc of his mouth
Afraid he might not wake, and then afraid
Lest he might wake too soon, fled back, and then, fond renegade,

Returned to fresh assault, and all day long
Sat at his side, and laughed at her new toy,
And held his hand, and sang her sweetest song,
Then frowned to see how froward was the boy
Who would not with her maidenhood entwine,
Nor knew that three days since his eyes had looked on Proserpine;

Nor knew what sacrilege his lips had done,
But said, ‘He will awake, I know him well,
He will awake at evening when the sun
Hangs his red shield on Corinth’s citadel;
This sleep is but a cruel treachery
To make me love him more, and in some cavern of the sea

Deeper than ever falls the fisher’s line
Already a huge Triton blows his horn,
And weaves a garland from the crystalline
And drifting ocean-tendrils to adorn
The emerald pillars of our bridal bed,
For sphered in foaming silver, and with coral crowned head,

We two will sit upon a throne of pearl,
And a blue wave will be our canopy,
And at our feet the water-snakes will curl
In all their amethystine panoply
Of diamonded mail, and we will mark
The mullets swimming by the mast of some storm-foundered bark,

Vermilion-finned with eyes of bossy gold
Like flakes of crimson light, and the great deep
His glassy-portaled chamber will unfold,
And we will see the painted dolphins sleep
Cradled by murmuring halcyons on the rocks
Where Proteus in quaint suit of green pastures his monstrous
flocks.

And tremulous opal-hued anemones
Will wave their purple fringes where we tread
Upon the mirrored floor, and argosies
Of fishes flecked with tawny scales will thread
The drifting cordage of the shattered wreck,
And honey-coloured amber beads our twining limbs will deck.’

But when that baffled Lord of War the Sun
With gaudy pennon flying passed away
Into his brazen House, and one by one
The little yellow stars began to stray
Across the field of heaven, ah! then indeed
She feared his lips upon her lips would never care to feed,

And cried, ‘Awake, already the pale moon
Washes the trees with silver, and the wave
Creeps grey and chilly up this sandy dune,
The croaking frogs are out, and from the cave
The nightjar shrieks, the fluttering bats repass,
And the brown stoat with hollow flanks creeps through the dusky
grass.

Nay, though thou art a god, be not so coy,
For in yon stream there is a little reed
That often whispers how a lovely boy
Lay with her once upon a grassy mead,
Who when his cruel pleasure he had done
Spread wings of rustling gold and soared aloft into the sun.

Be not so coy, the laurel trembles still
With great Apollo’s kisses, and the fir
Whose clustering sisters fringe the seaward hill
Hath many a tale of that bold ravisher
Whom men call Boreas, and I have seen
The mocking eyes of Hermes through the poplar’s silvery sheen.

Even the jealous Naiads call me fair,
And every morn a young and ruddy swain
Woos me with apples and with locks of hair,
And seeks to soothe my virginal disdain
By all the gifts the gentle wood-nymphs love;
But yesterday he brought to me an iris-plumaged dove

With little crimson feet, which with its store
Of seven spotted eggs the cruel lad
Had stolen from the lofty sycamore
At daybreak, when her amorous comrade had
Flown off in search of berried juniper
Which most they love; the fretful wasp, that earliest vintager

Of the blue grapes, hath not persistency
So constant as this simple shepherd-boy
For my poor lips, his joyous purity
And laughing sunny eyes might well decoy
A Dryad from her oath to Artemis;
For very beautiful is he, his mouth was made to kiss;

His argent forehead, like a rising moon
Over the dusky hills of meeting brows,
Is crescent shaped, the hot and Tyrian noon
Leads from the myrtle-grove no goodlier spouse
For Cytheraea, the first silky down
Fringes his blushing cheeks, and his young limbs are strong and
brown;

And he is rich, and fat and fleecy herds
Of bleating sheep upon his meadows lie,
And many an earthen bowl of yellow curds
Is in his homestead for the thievish fly
To swim and drown in, the pink clover mead
Keeps its sweet store for him, and he can pipe on oaten reed.

And yet I love him not; it was for thee
I kept my love; I knew that thou would’st come
To rid me of this pallid chastity,
Thou fairest flower of the flowerless foam
Of all the wide AEgean, brightest star
Of ocean’s azure heavens where the mirrored planets are!

I knew that thou would’st come, for when at first
The dry wood burgeoned, and the sap of spring
Swelled in my green and tender bark or burst
To myriad multitudinous blossoming
Which mocked the midnight with its mimic moons
That did not dread the dawn, and first the thrushes’ rapturous
tunes

Startled the squirrel from its granary,
And cuckoo flowers fringed the narrow lane,
Through my young leaves a sensuous ecstasy
Crept like new wine, and every mossy vein
Throbbed with the fitful pulse of amorous blood,
And the wild winds of passion shook my slim stem’s maidenhood.

The trooping fawns at evening came and laid
Their cool black noses on my lowest boughs,
And on my topmost branch the blackbird made
A little nest of grasses for his spouse,
And now and then a twittering wren would light
On a thin twig which hardly bare the weight of such delight.

I was the Attic shepherd’s trysting place,
Beneath my shadow Amaryllis lay,
And round my trunk would laughing Daphnis chase
The timorous girl, till tired out with play
She felt his hot breath stir her tangled hair,
And turned, and looked, and fled no more from such delightful
snare.

Then come away unto my ambuscade
Where clustering woodbine weaves a canopy
For amorous pleasaunce, and the rustling shade
Of Paphian myrtles seems to sanctify
The dearest rites of love; there in the cool
And green recesses of its farthest depth there is pool,

The ouzel’s haunt, the wild bee’s pasturage,
For round its rim great creamy lilies float
Through their flat leaves in verdant anchorage,
Each cup a white-sailed golden-laden boat
Steered by a dragon-fly,—be not afraid
To leave this wan and wave-kissed shore, surely the place was made

For lovers such as we; the Cyprian Queen,
One arm around her boyish paramour,
Strays often there at eve, and I have seen
The moon strip off her misty vestiture
For young Endymion’s eyes; be not afraid,
The panther feet of Dian never tread that secret glade.

Nay if thou will’st, back to the beating brine,
Back to the boisterous billow let us go,
And walk all day beneath the hyaline
Huge vault of Neptune’s watery portico,
And watch the purple monsters of the deep
Sport in ungainly play, and from his lair keen Xiphias leap.

For if my mistress find me lying here
She will not ruth or gentle pity show,
But lay her boar-spear down, and with austere
Relentless fingers string the cornel bow,
And draw the feathered notch against her breast,
And loose the arched cord; aye, even now upon the quest

I hear her hurrying feet,—awake, awake,
Thou laggard in love’s battle! once at least
Let me drink deep of passion’s wine, and slake
My parched being with the nectarous feast
Which even gods affect!  O come, Love, come,
Still we have time to reach the cavern of thine azure home.’

Scarce had she spoken when the shuddering trees
Shook, and the leaves divided, and the air
Grew conscious of a god, and the grey seas
Crawled backward, and a long and dismal blare
Blew from some tasselled horn, a sleuth-hound bayed,
And like a flame a barbed reed flew whizzing down the glade.

And where the little flowers of her breast
Just brake into their milky blossoming,
This murderous paramour, this unbidden guest,
Pierced and struck deep in horrid chambering,
And ploughed a ****** furrow with its dart,
And dug a long red road, and cleft with winged death her heart.

Sobbing her life out with a bitter cry
On the boy’s body fell the Dryad maid,
Sobbing for incomplete virginity,
And raptures unenjoyed, and pleasures dead,
And all the pain of things unsatisfied,
And the bright drops of crimson youth crept down her throbbing
side.

Ah! pitiful it was to hear her moan,
And very pitiful to see her die
Ere she had yielded up her sweets, or known
The joy of passion, that dread mystery
Which not to know is not to live at all,
And yet to know is to be held in death’s most deadly thrall.

But as it hapt the Queen of Cythere,
Who with Adonis all night long had lain
Within some shepherd’s hut in Arcady,
On team of silver doves and gilded wain
Was journeying Paphos-ward, high up afar
From mortal ken between the mountains and the morning star,

And when low down she spied the hapless pair,
And heard the Oread’s faint despairing cry,
Whose cadence seemed to play upon the air
As though it were a viol, hastily
She bade her pigeons fold each straining plume,
And dropt to earth, and reached the strand, and saw their dolorous
doom.

For as a gardener turning back his head
To catch the last notes of the linnet, mows
With careless scythe too near some flower bed,
And cuts the thorny pillar of the rose,
And with the flower’s loosened loneliness
Strews the brown mould; or as some shepherd lad in wantonness

Driving his little flock along the mead
Treads down two daffodils, which side by aide
Have lured the lady-bird with yellow brede
And made the gaudy moth forget its pride,
Treads down their brimming golden chalices
Under light feet which were not made for such rude ravages;

Or as a schoolboy tired of his book
Flings himself down upon the reedy grass
And plucks two water-lilies from the brook,
And for a time forgets the hour glass,
Then wearies of their sweets, and goes his way,
And lets the hot sun **** them, even go these lovers lay.

And Venus cried, ‘It is dread Artemis
Whose bitter hand hath wrought this cruelty,
Or else that mightier maid whose care it is
To guard her strong and stainless majesty
Upon the hill Athenian,—alas!
That they who loved so well unloved into Death’s house should
pass.’

So with soft hands she laid the boy and girl
In the great golden waggon tenderly
(Her white throat whiter than a moony pearl
Just threaded with a blue vein’s tapestry
Had not yet ceased to throb, and still her breast
Swayed like a wind-stirred lily in ambiguous unrest)

And then each pigeon spread its milky van,
The bright car soared into the dawning sky,
And like a cloud the aerial caravan
Passed over the AEgean silently,
Till the faint air was troubled with the song
From the wan mouths that call on bleeding Thammuz all night long.

But when the doves had reached their wonted goal
Where the wide stair of orbed marble dips
Its snows into the sea, her fluttering soul
Just shook the trembling petals of her lips
And passed into the void, and Venus knew
That one fair maid the less would walk amid her retinue,

And bade her servants carve a cedar chest
With all the wonder of this history,
Within whose scented womb their limbs should rest
Where olive-trees make tender the blue sky
On the low hills of Paphos, and the Faun
Pipes in the noonday, and the nightingale sings on till dawn.

Nor failed they to obey her hest, and ere
The morning bee had stung the daffodil
With tiny fretful spear, or from its lair
The waking stag had leapt across the rill
And roused the ouzel, or the lizard crept
Athwart the sunny rock, beneath the grass their bodies slept.

And when day brake, within that silver shrine
Fed by the flames of cressets tremulous,
Queen Venus knelt and prayed to Proserpine
That she whose beauty made Death amorous
Should beg a guerdon from her pallid Lord,
And let Desire pass across dread Charon’s icy ford.

Now Morn, her rosy steps in the eastern clime
Advancing, sowed the earth with orient pearl,
When Adam waked, so customed; for his sleep
Was aery-light, from pure digestion bred,
And temperate vapours bland, which the only sound
Of leaves and fuming rills, Aurora’s fan,
Lightly dispersed, and the shrill matin song
Of birds on every bough; so much the more
His wonder was to find unwakened Eve
With tresses discomposed, and glowing cheek,
As through unquiet rest:  He, on his side
Leaning half raised, with looks of cordial love
Hung over her enamoured, and beheld
Beauty, which, whether waking or asleep,
Shot forth peculiar graces; then with voice
Mild, as when Zephyrus on Flora breathes,
Her hand soft touching, whispered thus.  Awake,
My fairest, my espoused, my latest found,
Heaven’s last best gift, my ever new delight!
Awake:  The morning shines, and the fresh field
Calls us; we lose the prime, to mark how spring
Our tender plants, how blows the citron grove,
What drops the myrrh, and what the balmy reed,
How nature paints her colours, how the bee
Sits on the bloom extracting liquid sweet.
Such whispering waked her, but with startled eye
On Adam, whom embracing, thus she spake.
O sole in whom my thoughts find all repose,
My glory, my perfection! glad I see
Thy face, and morn returned; for I this night
(Such night till this I never passed) have dreamed,
If dreamed, not, as I oft am wont, of thee,
Works of day past, or morrow’s next design,
But of offence and trouble, which my mind
Knew never till this irksome night:  Methought,
Close at mine ear one called me forth to walk
With gentle voice;  I thought it thine: It said,
‘Why sleepest thou, Eve? now is the pleasant time,
‘The cool, the silent, save where silence yields
‘To the night-warbling bird, that now awake
‘Tunes sweetest his love-laboured song; now reigns
‘Full-orbed the moon, and with more pleasing light
‘Shadowy sets off the face of things; in vain,
‘If none regard; Heaven wakes with all his eyes,
‘Whom to behold but thee, Nature’s desire?
‘In whose sight all things joy, with ravishment
‘Attracted by thy beauty still to gaze.’
I rose as at thy call, but found thee not;
To find thee I directed then my walk;
And on, methought, alone I passed through ways
That brought me on a sudden to the tree
Of interdicted knowledge: fair it seemed,
Much fairer to my fancy than by day:
And, as I wondering looked, beside it stood
One shaped and winged like one of those from Heaven
By us oft seen; his dewy locks distilled
Ambrosia; on that tree he also gazed;
And ‘O fair plant,’ said he, ‘with fruit surcharged,
‘Deigns none to ease thy load, and taste thy sweet,
‘Nor God, nor Man?  Is knowledge so despised?
‘Or envy, or what reserve forbids to taste?
‘Forbid who will, none shall from me withhold
‘Longer thy offered good; why else set here?
This said, he paused not, but with venturous arm
He plucked, he tasted; me damp horrour chilled
At such bold words vouched with a deed so bold:
But he thus, overjoyed; ‘O fruit divine,
‘Sweet of thyself, but much more sweet thus cropt,
‘Forbidden here, it seems, as only fit
‘For Gods, yet able to make Gods of Men:
‘And why not Gods of Men; since good, the more
‘Communicated, more abundant grows,
‘The author not impaired, but honoured more?
‘Here, happy creature, fair angelick Eve!
‘Partake thou also; happy though thou art,
‘Happier thou mayest be, worthier canst not be:
‘Taste this, and be henceforth among the Gods
‘Thyself a Goddess, not to earth confined,
‘But sometimes in the air, as we, sometimes
‘Ascend to Heaven, by merit thine, and see
‘What life the Gods live there, and such live thou!’
So saying, he drew nigh, and to me held,
Even to my mouth of that same fruit held part
Which he had plucked; the pleasant savoury smell
So quickened appetite, that I, methought,
Could not but taste.  Forthwith up to the clouds
With him I flew, and underneath beheld
The earth outstretched immense, a prospect wide
And various:  Wondering at my flight and change
To this high exaltation; suddenly
My guide was gone, and I, methought, sunk down,
And fell asleep; but O, how glad I waked
To find this but a dream!  Thus Eve her night
Related, and thus Adam answered sad.
Best image of myself, and dearer half,
The trouble of thy thoughts this night in sleep
Affects me equally; nor can I like
This uncouth dream, of evil sprung, I fear;
Yet evil whence? in thee can harbour none,
Created pure.  But know that in the soul
Are many lesser faculties, that serve
Reason as chief; among these Fancy next
Her office holds; of all external things
Which the five watchful senses represent,
She forms imaginations, aery shapes,
Which Reason, joining or disjoining, frames
All what we affirm or what deny, and call
Our knowledge or opinion; then retires
Into her private cell, when nature rests.
Oft in her absence mimick Fancy wakes
To imitate her; but, misjoining shapes,
Wild work produces oft, and most in dreams;
Ill matching words and deeds long past or late.
Some such resemblances, methinks, I find
Of our last evening’s talk, in this thy dream,
But with addition strange; yet be not sad.
Evil into the mind of God or Man
May come and go, so unreproved, and leave
No spot or blame behind:  Which gives me hope
That what in sleep thou didst abhor to dream,
Waking thou never will consent to do.
Be not disheartened then, nor cloud those looks,
That wont to be more cheerful and serene,
Than when fair morning first smiles on the world;
And let us to our fresh employments rise
Among the groves, the fountains, and the flowers
That open now their choisest bosomed smells,
Reserved from night, and kept for thee in store.
So cheered he his fair spouse, and she was cheered;
But silently a gentle tear let fall
From either eye, and wiped them with her hair;
Two other precious drops that ready stood,
Each in their crystal sluice, he ere they fell
Kissed, as the gracious signs of sweet remorse
And pious awe, that feared to have offended.
So all was cleared, and to the field they haste.
But first, from under shady arborous roof
Soon as they forth were come to open sight
Of day-spring, and the sun, who, scarce up-risen,
With wheels yet hovering o’er the ocean-brim,
Shot parallel to the earth his dewy ray,
Discovering in wide landskip all the east
Of Paradise and Eden’s happy plains,
Lowly they bowed adoring, and began
Their orisons, each morning duly paid
In various style; for neither various style
Nor holy rapture wanted they to praise
Their Maker, in fit strains pronounced, or sung
Unmeditated; such prompt eloquence
Flowed from their lips, in prose or numerous verse,
More tuneable than needed lute or harp
To add more sweetness; and they thus began.
These are thy glorious works, Parent of good,
Almighty!  Thine this universal frame,
Thus wonderous fair;  Thyself how wonderous then!
Unspeakable, who sitst above these heavens
To us invisible, or dimly seen
In these thy lowest works; yet these declare
Thy goodness beyond thought, and power divine.
Speak, ye who best can tell, ye sons of light,
Angels; for ye behold him, and with songs
And choral symphonies, day without night,
Circle his throne rejoicing; ye in Heaven
On Earth join all ye Creatures to extol
Him first, him last, him midst, and without end.
Fairest of stars, last in the train of night,
If better thou belong not to the dawn,
Sure pledge of day, that crownest the smiling morn
With thy bright circlet, praise him in thy sphere,
While day arises, that sweet hour of prime.
Thou Sun, of this great world both eye and soul,
Acknowledge him thy greater; sound his praise
In thy eternal course, both when thou climbest,
And when high noon hast gained, and when thou fallest.
Moon, that now meetest the orient sun, now flyest,
With the fixed Stars, fixed in their orb that flies;
And ye five other wandering Fires, that move
In mystick dance not without song, resound
His praise, who out of darkness called up light.
Air, and ye Elements, the eldest birth
Of Nature’s womb, that in quaternion run
Perpetual circle, multiform; and mix
And nourish all things; let your ceaseless change
Vary to our great Maker still new praise.
Ye Mists and Exhalations, that now rise
From hill or steaming lake, dusky or gray,
Till the sun paint your fleecy skirts with gold,
In honour to the world’s great Author rise;
Whether to deck with clouds the uncoloured sky,
Or wet the thirsty earth with falling showers,
Rising or falling still advance his praise.
His praise, ye Winds, that from four quarters blow,
Breathe soft or loud; and, wave your tops, ye Pines,
With every plant, in sign of worship wave.
Fountains, and ye that warble, as ye flow,
Melodious murmurs, warbling tune his praise.
Join voices, all ye living Souls:  Ye Birds,
That singing up to Heaven-gate ascend,
Bear on your wings and in your notes his praise.
Ye that in waters glide, and ye that walk
The earth, and stately tread, or lowly creep;
Witness if I be silent, morn or even,
To hill, or valley, fountain, or fresh shade,
Made vocal by my song, and taught his praise.
Hail, universal Lord, be bounteous still
To give us only good; and if the night
Have gathered aught of evil, or concealed,
Disperse it, as now light dispels the dark!
So prayed they innocent, and to their thoughts
Firm peace recovered soon, and wonted calm.
On to their morning’s rural work they haste,
Among sweet dews and flowers; where any row
Of fruit-trees over-woody reached too far
Their pampered boughs, and needed hands to check
Fruitless embraces: or they led the vine
To wed her elm; she, spoused, about him twines
Her marriageable arms, and with him brings
Her dower, the adopted clusters, to adorn
His barren leaves.  Them thus employed beheld
With pity Heaven’s high King, and to him called
Raphael, the sociable Spirit, that deigned
To travel with Tobias, and secured
His marriage with the seventimes-wedded maid.
Raphael, said he, thou hearest what stir on Earth
Satan, from Hell ’scaped through the darksome gulf,
Hath raised in Paradise; and how disturbed
This night the human pair; how he designs
In them at once to ruin all mankind.
Go therefore, half this day as friend with friend
Converse with Adam, in what bower or shade
Thou findest him from the heat of noon retired,
To respite his day-labour with repast,
Or with repose; and such discourse bring on,
As may advise him of his happy state,
Happiness in his power left free to will,
Left to his own free will, his will though free,
Yet mutable; whence warn him to beware
He swerve not, too secure:  Tell him withal
His danger, and from whom; what enemy,
Late fallen himself from Heaven, is plotting now
The fall of others from like state of bliss;
By violence? no, for that shall be withstood;
But by deceit and lies:  This let him know,
Lest, wilfully transgressing, he pretend
Surprisal, unadmonished, unforewarned.
So spake the Eternal Father, and fulfilled
All justice:  Nor delayed the winged Saint
After his charge received; but from among
Thousand celestial Ardours, where he stood
Veiled with his gorgeous wings, up springing light,
Flew through the midst of Heaven; the angelick quires,
On each hand parting, to his speed gave way
Through all the empyreal road; till, at the gate
Of Heaven arrived, the gate self-opened wide
On golden hinges turning, as by work
Divine the sovran Architect had framed.
From hence no cloud, or, to obstruct his sight,
Star interposed, however small he sees,
Not unconformed to other shining globes,
Earth, and the garden of God, with cedars crowned
Above all hills.  As when by night the glass
Of Galileo, less assured, observes
Imagined lands and regions in the moon:
Or pilot, from amidst the Cyclades
Delos or Samos first appearing, kens
A cloudy spot.  Down thither prone in flight
He speeds, and through the vast ethereal sky
Sails between worlds and worlds, with steady wing
Now on the polar winds, then with quick fan
Winnows the buxom air; till, within soar
Of towering eagles, to all the fowls he seems
A phoenix, gazed by all as that sole bird,
When, to enshrine his reliques in the Sun’s
Bright temple, to Egyptian Thebes he flies.
At once on the eastern cliff of Paradise
He lights, and to his proper shape returns
A Seraph winged:  Six wings he wore, to shade
His lineaments divine; the pair that clad
Each shoulder broad, came mantling o’er his breast
With regal ornament; the middle pair
Girt like a starry zone his waist, and round
Skirted his ***** and thighs with downy gold
And colours dipt in Heaven; the third his feet
Shadowed from either heel with feathered mail,
Sky-tinctured grain.  Like Maia’s son he stood,
And shook his plumes, that heavenly fragrance filled
The circuit wide.  Straight knew him all the bands
Of Angels under watch; and to his state,
And to his message high, in honour rise;
For on some message high they guessed him bound.
Their glittering tents he passed, and now is come
Into the blissful field, through groves of myrrh,
And flowering odours, cassia, nard, and balm;
A wilderness of sweets; for Nature here
Wantoned as in her prime, and played at will
Her ****** fancies pouring forth more sweet,
Wild above rule or art, enormous bliss.
Him through the spicy forest onward come
Adam discerned, as in the door he sat
Of his cool bower, while now the mounted sun
Shot down direct his fervid rays to warm
Earth’s inmost womb, more warmth than Adam needs:
And Eve within, due at her hour prepared
For dinner savoury fruits, of taste to please
True appetite, and not disrelish thirst
Of nectarous draughts between, from milky stream,
Berry or grape:  To whom thus Adam called.
Haste hither, Eve, and worth thy sight behold
Eastward among those trees, what glorious shape
Comes this way moving; seems another morn
Risen on mid-noon; some great behest from Heaven
To us perhaps he brings, and will vouchsafe
This day to be our guest.  But go with speed,
And, what thy stores contain, bring forth, and pour
Abundance, fit to honour and receive
Our heavenly stranger:  Well we may afford
Our givers their own gifts, and large bestow
From large bestowed, where Nature multiplies
Her fertile growth, and by disburthening grows
More fruitful, which instructs us not to spare.
To whom thus Eve.  Adam, earth’s hallowed mould,
Of God inspired! small store will serve, where store,
All seasons, ripe for use hangs on the stalk;
Save what by frugal storing firmness gains
To nourish, and superfluous moist consumes:
But I will haste, and from each bough and brake,
Each plant and juciest gourd, will pluck such choice
To entertain our Angel-guest, as he
Beholding shall confess, that here on Earth
God hath dispensed his bounties as in Heaven.
So saying, with dispatchful looks in haste
She turns, on hospitable thoughts intent
What choice to choose for delicacy best,
What order, so contrived as not to mix
Tastes, not well joined, inelegant, but bring
Taste after taste upheld with kindliest change;
Bestirs her then, and from each tender stalk
Whatever Earth, all-bearing mother, yields
In India East or West, or middle shore
In Pontus or the Punick coast, or where
Alcinous reigned, fruit of all kinds, in coat
Rough, or smooth rind, or bearded husk, or shell,
She gathers, tribute large, and on the board
Heaps with unsparing hand; for drink the grape
She crushes, inoffensive must, and meaths
From many a berry, and from sweet kernels pressed
She tempers dulcet creams; nor these to hold
Wants her fit vessels pure; then strows the ground
With rose and odours from the shrub unfumed.
Mean while our primitive great sire, to meet
His God-like guest, walks forth, without more train
Accompanied than with his own complete
Perfections; in himself was all his state,
More solemn than the tedious pomp that waits
On princes, when their rich retinue long
Of horses led, and gro

Her cherry wood hair,
and rosy blossom cheeks,
combine to make a dear so sweet.
Moments with her are cherries of time,
nectarous instances,
an oh so fulfilling fruit.

Lychee blackberry of sweetest variety*
Shouts the vendor
They look juicily nice
But when I ask the price
Find it too high.

Why them forgone
Summer’s yields live short
I lay my hand on one
They are money’s worth.

And I think of my place
In next year’s summer days
What if I vacate this space

Nothing forever stays.

Allow me to step into your space.
Let us be close,
standing face to face.
So close...
Where our hands could meet,
and our hearts could greet...
The one chance
to finally indulge this long awaited dance.

Cradling one another...
In open arms.
Surendering...
Submitting...
To careless caresses,
bashful gazes and charms.

Our feet would mirror,
the gaits
of each other.
Our eyes ensnared
with senses all bared...
To the rise and fall
of the nectarous melody.
Playing for what seemed like eternity
in silence.

That eternity is now here.
Seizing this dance,
we gambol and frolic
without reservations and fear...
For the hours have frozen
and the seconds have ceased to tick.

This is our song.
Seemingly refined,
cultured and well versed.
This is our dance.
Enchanting,
perfect,
albeit unrehearsed.

T'was the gleaming dawn that those fairies poked from the veils of flowers and caught on hair were the pedals of the healthy sun. When the age was young and time knew not of itself, the hills were not corrupt.
   The wings of faeryflies and butterflies were tarnished not, but were glode upon by the winds of aimless grace; Thus they were always at Heaven's feet. Racing upon the glorified mountains were the badgers and bears lined in unison, smiling and perfect. The sun bound its rays to the shoulders of grass hills like eyes of Gods upon their children. Stood ***** were housing trees of the nested kind, fertile and lush.
   Lazy and idle slumped man happy and lethargic, hypnotized by that herbal glory that was his natural home. That of a kind that had been stolen in past tales but was revived in that timeless moment that could be lived and lived again alone in the forest to the east. Winged reptiles fluffed with fur dove from penetrating limbs and sung to the distance in inspiration. Perked were the ears of the majestic and gorgeous felines, born of the deserts that were the companions of kings. Not caring to hunt, lapped the wolves and dogs laying with the enemies of ages gone. Now only peace was reigning.
   Books and poems spoke of nothing new for the moment had found itself in heaven. The poets had no magic to convey and the authors nothing to tell, the scientists nothing to document. Thus the dreams of Children and Gods poured like water of the loveliest kind, sparkling with diamonds quenching the soul of the population. Food grew lush and free like fruits of divine knowledge upon that giving tree!
   Ritual and rite spoke of many diverse Deities and contact was non-denominational. Praise rose to the highest and rang of the clouds which were glided upon like notes of bards to which realms beyond one could go no further to speak! This was the realm from which language was born and art was bare in its true identity. This was where the onyx was carven by the Lord's anvil, given by the spirit of blacksmiths, and craftsmen of the like. Within those onyxes was night's essence and dwelling within the diamonds of day was a rainbow of fantasy hills free from decay!
   Giants gave free rides to the ones below with lifted songs of magic, levitating them free from natural bounds! The trees grew miraculously at speeds unknown to time lines perceived but was of time construed as God Speed. Bushes bared fruits of rainbow colors and iridescent visual illusion! Beautiful and bold were the tastes that quenched the deepest of yearnings. Salt liquid would drip from the children as they skipped from haven to haven with baskets woven on crafty mothers said to know of love. Those mothers would lullaby their babies to worlds of sorts known in mythologies of ageless civilizations! Lifted and beaming the children were transformed to angelic entities with harps of berceuses. Emanating were visual paradises transcendent of worldly nature but only known to the angels and the ears that were graced by glory!
   Proud were the further generations of what had been laid out by their tall, masculine birth fathers. Unholy language was unknown but only the ecstasy of heaven poured from lips like nectarous liquor.
   The forests were lined with prairies of diverse flowers sprinkled and gazed upon by moons and suns of worlds magical and beyond! Stumbling, the mossy giants wore clothes of Pan and draped were their leaves over their limbs reaching for love and what may lay beyond those wreathes.
   The soaked floor of druid woods were vibrant and lively. Untrodden paths bore magical potions and herbs that once ingested sung through the guest's frame till ecstasy was found and language no longer made distinct the inevitable unison that those vibrations of time had strung through countless, and meaningless ages. Entered would be a realm beyond form, void and the concept of either. But only would love and the moment of now float like stars of unfathomable material buoyant in the womb of worlds. And sprung from what would be perceived as void came all the heavens and what lay beneath those shaman's and kahuna's ingrown feet.
   Embedded were the children of time, one with nature and naked in themselves and free to breathe what ever purified and holy air that cuddled their outlines like a mother does her child.
   Spoke from ten thousand horns were the tales of Lords and Gods and kingdoms that laid harmonious upon mother earth. No matter how the bard of the local bar was spoken, crazy he would be deemed by men who now hid this knowledge from those who knew not of the possibility. In all languages that soul would speak to all ears ignorant to difference but had love for only the song. And now still the gift of imagination and the boundless feats that it could manifest were passed along like feathers and leaves upon the passing river. Sought and caught were the treasures of language to those who knew of translation. And lullabied were those Gods and Angels who heard of the transmissions.
   But now only the drunken bard lay sloppy and tired beneath that tree that somehow taught him of nature and the wisdom that it held. And off into the distance sprang the vibration of his passing mumblings like songs of nonsense upon that aimless wind.

Cooling air, the senses assault
Done is the day, I’ve earned my salt.
Daytime light has turned on me
On moonlit streets such trickery
The pleasant splash, those leaves on foot
Make drunk these nostrils, nectarous soot
Pensive mood floods the mind
And of their beauty I’m truly blind
I do not think of Autumn whole
Only alms within my bowl
As you’ll see I’m leaf inspired
Though their rudiments I have mired
Autumn ring, the chilling tenors
Rejoiced and played in earthly manors
That icy rush makes cold the spirits
Yet conflagrates ye adherents
That festive smell, incense the air!
No motive o’yours ever err
And though the day leaves more hastily
These changing leaves get the best o’me
Transient seconds plump and inspir’d
Of your natural portraits I’ll never tire
The mountainside, my most treasur’d mosaic
Whatever great works, it’s more archaic
Falling to the ground, like listless colorful rain
Whether as the nemophilist, or seated behind a pane
These little souls returning to earth
Fill me with the greatest mirth
Though they exemplify an age ended
Verbiage they have transcended
I’d fill my days with gallery mileage
Gladly glut with their splendid sillage
As they flit, the stuff of dreams
In their midst, pure sophrosyne.
Day or night I’m overcome
Eyes wide open and stricken dumb
Overcome with words and tune
Bursting forth, this ideal plume
And like a flower, complex in bloom
Can’t be captured, hemmed and hewn
Vapor these words, though fall inspire’d
No due medium, pen or lyre
Untouchable this golden essence
Wealth of ideas, gone in seconds
Appropriate, it seems to me
My head, my thoughts a leafy tree
Arrives the autumn, gold and dun
Thousands escape when I reach for one
So I’ll just watch in quiet awe
The beauty whole, no hem nor haw
Not try to make that art my own
Won’t reduce it to rhyme and tone
I’ll simply revel their naïve lull
Ephemeral, yes, but never dull
Shout out happily in leafy halls
Marry to words what return my calls
Leave thou ******, in pulchritude pall
And question not what comes of fall.

Every night from dusk until dawn



Fantasies of a promiscuous angel



Cradle my heart with great solace



Serenading me with salacious whispers



Originating from the world of the sexually elite



The delectable foundation of this woman's shape



Glided across the majestic incandescence of the moon



Her skin moon bathing in the marvelous afterglow



Her provocative body was like the tree of forbidden fruit



One could simply look but was never allowed touch



Deep inside I was desperately dying to taste



Of the nectarous heaven of her lustful treats



However I inhaled the aroma of her hypnotically ****** scent



For it was airborne and suckering me in with remarkable ease



Injecting me with an elixir of opulent passion and zealous elation



This charming woman gives me taboos of a cutting edge nature



Always leaving me upon my knees crawling back for more



Oh, foxy woman forever you may haunt my fantasies

Dark waters ripple thought.
horse drawn carriage tread
voltaic wires, throbbing brain.
lorn elation until osculation
of lips dreamt nightly.
nectarous skin float
between fingers raptured.
everlasting sand blown
from ashes wrought with
doubt.
paroxysm of senses like electric eels
wreck ties bound by vituperation.
Breath like honeyed vapor,
encased rouged cheeks.
savored time in bottles, minutes
turned to minerals mined.
hours of golden flecks
splashed in synthesized
unison.
New always, love evermore.

When my body is broiled with the crispening macabre glean of anxiety; I imagine myself to be a buoying loaf of cornbread in a torrent sea of acid.
my custard colored crust being licked away by the ravenous maw of the current, this is no terrain for a loaf of cornbread in the first place.
Ludicrous.
Perhaps if I joined the sun swept crystal island of idealism, I could be drenched in honey and bound frivolously in nectarous orchard fields.
But then, even here, I suppose a Raven may  spot me and adorned with a vulturous sneer gobble me up in my blissful state there.
So where shall my pappy crumbling loaf of an existence reside?
In the trenches of unbridled realization, lapping me up in a despair riddled prison?
Or the land of beatitude and glee unfettered from the brutalizing truths of reality...
Perhaps there's some bridging ground between these two polar opposites...
but how should I know?
I'm merely a cornbread I can't declare cognizance.

Society, the nectarous drenched **** of gregarious giving.
Or so we think..
One must be diligent to not consume to the point of overweening upon her intoxicating milk.
"You can be anything" she coos delicately stroking your forehead.
My bleary scruffed state prevents me from feeling her venomous *****.
I am rendered limp set agog by the hypnagogic melody of society.
Then there is you...
Your Wild renegade eyes pry me from my cemented prison.
Your Voltaic energy seeped in the poetry that coats my marrow and enamel, the substance of my soul.
Such beauty estranged from society? How can that be?
Was this matronly epicenter all farce and rigamarole?
I clamor in search for those eyes to appease my pain.
I search in vain..
until I face the mirror.
Those eyes belong to me, the remedy to society is the awakening of yourself, the claiming of your poetry.

Your llove is nectarous
Yes I said nectarous
It is of nature
It is delicious and sweet
Your love is courageous
It is brave and fearless
Your love is bold
Your love is daring
Your love is lionhearted
Your love is venturesome
Your love is kind
Your love is beautiful
Your love is perfection

*but most importantly your love is mine.

Your voice is, to
Simply put it, pleasant.
Like strawberries in tea.
A delicious chilling dash,
In a steaming cup
Of cushioned laughter

Most of it is sweet
With perhaps, a
Little bit of ****
That inevitably
Comes with fruit

Words of substance
And manic passion
Drip out of your
Nectarous mouth,
Like maple syrup

Just like the fickle
Strawberries, your
Syrup, it gives me
A rush, the sugary kind…

.

Whispering apricot beams shine upon frilly sheers,
lazy shadows dance in daffodil dawn colours,
pirouettes of pleasured moments,
silently flowing on smooth brush stroke walls

You breathe, softly, the sweetest sonnet,
rhythmically exhaling beneath satin sheets
symphonic…bringing a grin to the sunrise,
blushing clouds hide behind a bashful horizon

Placing a gentle kiss upon rose petal shoulders,
you stir ever so slightly…eyes flutter, chiffon wings
hugging the pillow wistfully, floating within,
cascading between dreams of us

Exploring the mesmerizing curves of your body,
my lips touch warm porcelain skin,
the faintest sigh escapes, a smile appears
as your wispy fingers seek my own

A purr escapes, whispered desires sooth,
tranquil thighs twitch as they part slightly,
the sweetest scent tempts me, awash in dewdrop bliss,
glistening beads of summer rain memories

Probing gentle folds, serene recesses of silken slivers
sipping the morns perfect elixir, ambrosia,
seeing your eyes wide open now
and falling once more deeply into their hypnotic beauty

Maple sugar cravings, slippery pearlescent glimmers,
tasting your flavors as methodical moans sift dawns hush,
drippings linger my lips…nectarous indulgence,
essence of honeysuckle breezes

Hands ****** my hair, wavy lengths, grasping  
tickling heated embraces, melting into the morning
reaching beneath arching form…pulling nearer, closer
quilted comfort massages

Sunshine illumines the room with sparkled effervescence,
writhing deep into the blue sky destinations,
azure visions of springtime promises kept
and green grass wanderings

I rise with you, fall with you…with this perfect time,  
mirroring movements in reflective crescendos, rapidly,
as your voice sings my name, feathered pillow melodies,
ending in an ovation in hummingbird quivers

And you collapse, tethered breaths, tiny giggles
pulling the sheets tight to your chin playfully
I peer up, cinnamon eyes gleam, twinkle
*rejoicing as brand new day begins…in love

The visage of thee hast escaped my minds eye.
Thou sweet countenance vanished from the path.
Wilt thou have me die?
Wilt thou have me feign death's wrath?

Lo,
I search,
You're tresses I dare not see.
Behold I have wandered close behind,

Nevermore,
I fear,
A glimpse to be.
Not one on Earth as your resplendent face doth I find.

Pacing poles,
North as due South.
To hearken unto the whispers of your nectarous mouth......

Soldiers have forgotten the taste of nectarous,
Hunger for food faded,
And hunger for victory raged,
So came blood fountains replacing chocolates'.

dreams of dying

then what happens?

mine will go to the darkness, like hers did
and she will weep giant waterdropletsonmyface,
and i will drink them until my stomach is full of sadness

she will always be reaching for that small moment of peace

and i will always be searching for someone to love me

she has no heart, no *******,
no legs no belly no heat

now you are here

your clothes are vacant
i want to wear them for you
let's be together

climb into each other's shirts and skirts and socks until
we can't move anymore

and we'll lay over each other
resting and reading sleeping warmly
and you will never be tristful, here with me

and your lips will taste like sweet coffee
all the time

how nectarous

Brides of whitest, delicate lace,
Gowns immaculate, as snow their face
Softest pink, a blush to embrace,
Rose, as rising sun to race

Sheets of white, 'candescent as moonlight,
Waves of coral, leaves and floral,
Rows of candle, as calcic stalagmite,
Mauves 'n violet as wild wood sorrel.

So yon maidens of sweetest spring
Herald the Queen Summer's oncoming
Her nectarous drupe and fruit offspring
The bountiful boon she will bring.

Behold the language of your Beloved
Speaks in tongues of secrets vivid
Of kindness, giving, eternally sipid
Of warmth and fire, of ardour vivid

So when next you spy the verdant maidens
Bedecked finery, blossoms laden,
Whispering, bowing, to one cadence,
Know you see the One true Haven.

For the time gone we pine
To once there be back again
Drink that plane’s nectarous wine
Under the sky of powdered rain!

Still isn’t ripe under blackberry tree
The child’s innocence its dreams starry
Lies there dormant the unserved need
In morning dew buried in ****!

Where has gone that lived in space
Shining bright in summers’ recess
The doleful noons in imagined voyage
On painted seas sans anchorage!

Why it’s so we live in past
With it obsessed in longing lust
The mind of now feels painful numb
Present seems void yawning vacuum!

it is clear how she may echo petulance and malevolence; some do not dare even speak her name. her disposition is coy--almost skittish of those neighboring her. she has made her scar amongst those who have known her over the caducity, confirming a sphinx-like address. those around her relinquish her delicacy, overlooking the placid ancillary that fireworks from the spark of dereliction. concealed within is her saccharine and moonstruck revamped dynamism, a side of her eclipsed by timidity. a side of her remained blemished, terror-stricken, and polluted. a side of her that once was begrudged, is now veiling itself in the deepest ridges of her vitality. on occasion, the nectarous oblique of who she is, exposed. like a deer fresh from the womb, the chaste fragment stumbles into the spotlight--with bambi eyes and tremulous hands; this side of the cocoa skinned girl does not correlate with the scurrilous side that is seen most often. aghast, she falters one foot into her serendipity. almost customarily, the once biddable damsel with only good intentions is propelled into alternative cosmos. what was at once an effrontery and undaunted venomous flower, is now a teetering cherub. although, this side of her adumbrates. the affliction caused on one single fleshly made anthropoid countermands any dose of gallantry she may have had to avow this susceptible and thin-skinned region of whom she is. the propensity is hidden in the hot chocolate that is her eyes--she was always told her eyes are her worst enemy, because they can never seem to distort the truth, despite what her mouth may declare. in her utopia fabricated by her lack of marbles, she is impervious, free from harm, and intact. but she mustn't stay for the blue moon, for she will fall aphrodisiac for the azure she is indulged in. spiraling to the shoal of reality, she is face to face with annihilation of who she once was. a dove-like figure fighting against vexation of soreness. a soul so bleary and bruised, it no longer even fisticuffs in the onslaught. the virtuous side hands over the aptitude, only for the already puissant side to strangle who she is until the altruism fades from her face; leaving her indigo and ruptured. the iniquitous character inside of her vouching championship, snatching the halo from her own head and turning it into a choker. the stainless sidelong is hidden once again, under the arctic snow that was created by her cold heart. buried deep under the flakes of depression and abandonment issues, she lay there freezing and awaiting to be accessible. until then, the bruised up diminutive hides under rage and impatience. waiting, waiting, until someone divides the code that keeps her concealed. time is ticking, salvage her before is cold through and through.

Oh dear, say it ain't so
I have tumbled once more into the Ensorcel rabbit hole.
Such beguiling charisma and perplexing dexterity wound up inside the man seated next to me.
Perhaps he has broad branching toes like a stoic Tarzan type, nesting in foliage and kissing the stars goodnight.
Or maybe, just maybe he's a beatnik poetic pulsating with the rhythm the earth has bestowed in him.
His finely aligned scruff and quaintly poised glasses may suggest his love for musical classics.
Oh treacherous day, what ever shall I do?
This man of such illusive origins glazed in nectarous morning dew.
Logistically you could precipitate more interaction to decode the cryptic fabric  fostering this bizarre attraction.
But...
Enshrining and alienating yourself from said object is the best way to circumvent its truthful product.
He is feverishly contaminated by the condition of human, fettered by the society's rubble and ruins.
Ah, no matter I say. I can jowl upon my pumpkin pie and wistfully ostracize the pestilence shreds of reality away.
Anyhow, I do much prefer the aggrandized lofty plot of land transcended from our fickle mortal hackneyed plans.
A throne of land so void of reality my fabricated man could lie beside me in all his Tarzan beatnik classical music glory.

***

He’s been craving the sensation of his **** in between my legs
Waiting for niagara falls to rain inside my pink tinted walls as he makes his way down on me

Spread my legs open … feel me tremble to the touch of your fingertips inside me
Taste and feel the moist of my walls drip to the sound of your voice
Enticed by those deep dark brown eyes that spark admiration and passion
Feel my body tingle with sensation as you caress my thighs with desire
As I taste the sweetness and bitterness of your juice between my lips
I lick the tip and run my tongue around and around as I push you deeper into my mouth
You unleash my inner most ****** desires that seek to be fulfilled
Shhhh… and listen to my body’s demands to be on top
Feel my inner thighs move slowly back and forth as my hips move in rhythm
Hold me tight as I squeeze you within my beauteous, divine walls ...
As I pick up the speed and move up and down
I begin to unravel and unfold myself and release the nectarous of my fruit on you..
Feel the warm, creamy, white juice
So blissful and euphoric
As I exhale a symphony of moans
By the fire we generate with the warmth of our bodies panting in satisfaction…
My mind just entered a dimension beyond consciousness
You
Opened
Me
…..

as i lye on the wrinkled sheets that hug your plushy mattress and your fibrous tissue, i watch as the purple-blue veins vertically lining your forearms branch out, connecting with the arteries in my fingertips, tying in bonded knots and transporting the honey-sweetness of your essence entrancingly with the music in mine

i can feel the soft vibrations from the pulsing of your heart sounding to a beat as delicate as my exhalations that spill out onto your sleeping skin

your lips hold the pitches to my favourite melodies
your eyes have the taste of the most nectarous flower that saturates my stomach with petals and leaves me so full and in my most natural form
i watch as the voice i hear and the skin i touch transforms me into a new being
one unafraid of having a new favourite song
unafraid of the uncertainties of the universe
unafraid of being new
fresh, and new

Do you remember what God said to you child?
When you were conceived?
Before your parents knew...

I remember now, he whispered. His voice sounding of the forceful ocean,
But as nectarous and consoling as a summer breeze
*Be love child, BE love.