And today,
I want to paint
dreams for you.
Dreams painted
between the gaps
of our fingers.
Sipid and Wild.

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.

of what new some there is grass there is flesh

                   )that


swimming through muscles of divine Spring
feel good to be young again
their lurching and unlurching smoothness of
blade

is a grass between the the thighs
where giggles little the all of the world
in two new newness of old always being.

)it's boys and girls and gardens
and the cheapest hot glass of
dark dark dark wine
through your lips
on a cherry
afternoon
there
is
the
fresh slung
amber of a girl hand
in her girl hands' slowly slinging
of trite *** waisted in some hips gravure

             tussel

                tusseling

with the irreverent marvel of life
lived insmiply insipidly sipid .      A Dream Like Paris