Lovers Dream World - a Villanelle**


Katie could put her feet behind her head
Or do a grand plié, position two,
Her suppleness magnificent in bed.

I strained my lower back, and Katie bled,
Only a little, doing what we could do
When Katie tucked her feet behind her head.

Her torso was a C-cup'd figurehead,
Wearing below its navel a tattoo
That writhed in suppleness upon the bed.

As love led on to love, love's goddess said,
"No lovers ever ****** as ****** these two!
Katie could put her feet behind her head!"

When Katie came she never stopped. Instead,
She came, cried "God!," and came, this dancer who
Brought ballerina suppleness to bed.

She curled her legs around my neck, which led
To depths unplumbed by lovers hitherto.
Katie could tuck her feet behind her head
And by her suppleness unmake the bed.

It was you, Atthis, who said

"Sappho, if you will not get
up and let us look at you
I shall never love you again!

"Get up, unleash your suppleness,
lift off your Chian nightdress
and, like a lily leaning into

"a spring, bathe in the water.
Cleis is bringing your best
purple frock and the yellow

"tunic down from the clothes chest;
you will have a cloak thrown over
you and flowers crowning your hair...

"Praxinoa, my child, will you please
roast nuts for our breakfast? One
of the gods is being good to us:

"today we are going at last
into Mitylene, our favorite
city, with Sappho, loveliest

"of its women; she will walk
among us like a mother with
all her daughters around her

"when she comes home from exile..."

But you forget everything

A woman waits for me, she contains all, nothing is lacking,
Yet all were lacking if *** were lacking, or if the moisture of the
   right man were lacking.

*** contains all, bodies, souls,
Meanings, proofs, purities, delicacies, results, promulgations,
Songs, commands, health, pride, the maternal mystery, the seminal
   milk,
All hopes, benefactions, bestowals, all the passions, loves,
   beauties, delights of the earth,
All the governments, judges, gods, follow’d persons of the earth,
These are contain’d in *** as parts of itself and justifications of
   itself.

Without shame the man I like knows and avows the deliciousness of
   his ***,
Without shame the woman I like knows and avows hers.

Now I will dismiss myself from impassive women,
I will go stay with her who waits for me, and with those women that
   are warm-blooded and sufficient for me,
I see that they understand me and do not deny me,
I see that they are worthy of me, I will be the robust husband of
   those women.

They are not one jot less than I am,
They are tann’d in the face by shining suns and blowing winds,
Their flesh has the old divine suppleness and strength,
They know how to swim, row, ride, wrestle, shoot, run, strike,
   retreat, advance, resist, defend themselves,
They are ultimate in their own right- they are calm, clear, well-
   possess’d of themselves.

I draw you close to me, you women,
I cannot let you go, I would do you good,
I am for you, and you are for me, not only for our own sake, but for
   others’ sakes,
Envelop’d in you sleep greater heroes and bards,
They refuse to awake at the touch of any man but me.

It is I, you women, I make my way,
I am stern, acrid, large, undissuadable, but I love you,
I do not hurt you any more than is necessary for you,
I pour the stuff to start sons and daughters fit for these States, I
   press with slow rude muscle,
I brace myself effectually, I listen to no entreaties,
I dare not withdraw till I deposit what has so long accumulated
   within me.

Through you I drain the pent-up rivers of myself,
In you I wrap a thousand onward years,
On you I graft the grafts of the best-beloved of me and America,
The drops I distil upon you shall grow fierce and athletic girls,
   new artists, musicians, and singers,
The babes I beget upon you are to beget babes in their turn,
I shall demand perfect men and women out of my love-spendings,
I shall expect them to interpenetrate with others, as I and you
   inter-penetrate now,
I shall count on the fruits of the gushing showers of them, as I
   count on the fruits of the gushing showers I give now,
I shall look for loving crops from the birth, life, death,
   immortality, I plant so lovingly now.

You have worn your skin
and never asked where it would end.

In rooms made larger by the Old Masters,
your spine also has learned to bend.

The stalk resides inside of you, the joist
fanning through you with the suppleness
of a willow bough.

Don't you know?
The last ink of the day is written with a green pen.

The soft machine is my body, said Sonia, it gives pleasure to men. I sit in my bath, rinse away the touch and feel of them, while in the other room Dimello lies upon my bed, gazing up at the ceiling, smoking his fat cigar, singing between puffs some song he thinks I like, some verses he’s remembered from some former times. Mi máquina suave, he calls me, his soft machine, supple, malleable machine. He knows little of me; his mind is of lower things, of orifices and *******, of *****, drugs and ***** deeds. He knows nothing of my needs, my little wants and desires. I lay back in my bath, let the water soothe me, my ******* sit upon the water’s skin like dolphins about to skim the waves, but these just sit and wait, two small whales, my fingers touching them as if some lover had felt and loved. Sometimes I embrace this soft machine, my hands around me as if some secret lover held me close, or I kiss my arms with my soft lips, mocking Dimello with his damp thick lips, his ***** breath in my ears, his words like pinpricks on my flesh. Besaré la máquina suave, he says, I will kiss the soft machine, he repeats, his smile oily, his eyes dark as prunes. Last night he made love to me, his body like some pounding shark, his teeth nibbling my flesh, his fingers entering, feeling their way in the dark, his coarse voice mumbling his words of lust and love. My uncle loved this soft machine, he would tickle and touch in the summer days when I stayed for the holidays when my parents were away on their business trips abroad in other climes in my childhood times. Nuestro secreto, Uncle said, our secret, none must know, he would whisper, his hands seeking  smooth my flesh, to soothe my troubled mind and me. The water in my bath grows cold; I hear Dimello singing from the other room, his head on my pillow, his cigar smoke invading my space. I arise from my bath; look at my soft machine, my body, with its suppleness, its litheness, its agility. I know each inch of this machine, feel it with my finger’s touch, hold it in embrace, kiss it with a self-love, a tenderness lacking in other’s touch. Dimello calls, his patience lacking, his lust returned. Apresure mi máquina suave, he calls, hurry, my soft machine, my body awaits your return, he says. I want him gone, want his body from my bed and home. He does not love as I wish to be loved, his love is of a lower kind, his wants and lusts feel me with dread. I look out of the window and see the morning sun, see the day coming with its freshness blooming, the birds singing from some nearby trees, and Dimello singing like some strangled cat, his voice echoing through the walls of my one roomed flat and lowering my lips I blow a kiss to the birds in flight trying to forget Dimello and his lustful night.

spelling backwards through time,
      stroke by blurry stroke
      a maiden's coal-black hair regales
      the flattery from her lips...  and so the doom
-- and boon of a crimson warrior's arm --
      was drawn from speech a flame,
      and kindled mind to burn away for lust,
one speaker fed and doubly fraught
by goddess's
      invention brought
to give away his name and trust,
for doppelgangers' games
                                 and beauty
                                         to consent~

that trollish abysm our aching selfhood
deems unworthy, war can celebrate:
iconic genius symbol may encourage,
it may remembrance windows of our history~
      but only breath, and inner sight so keen
      on solid strength of living fact
      can triumph in the plain!
some semblance of an older wisdom
strains to orate still, and lust itself afar,
      but brawn and tested fibrous body build
      must turn the page of time;
and this, to know the truth withstood
that vision
        of a perfect youth
                            forever,
one start and line without an end,
      a floating dance of pulling under waves
      that never waves as being surely does
like no ancient-honest country-prophet ever saw--
thus, remnants of the wisdom from a fallen mind;
and so he fell to her and had not her for long...
she had a wider window, immortal panes,
this temptress
       suppleness of limb to shock
and shake the bones of foolish learning,
that thinks itself imbued with everlasting fame.

it was a mossy light
                         of eyelash shine
                                           and sheen
                                                   to woo
                                                        the wisdom out,
electric sense to lure the hapless sap
into a brutish trap: to learn alone the
atheletes pathos, relearn the heart-race
from a chest of seemless vigour,
from lungs of endless winds
and legs of trunkish growth the
channels and the prism of an empty skull
instead of learned ships and foolish mimes of finer times--
                   he does the bidding of her will.











.

Nothing is permanent.

Trees lose their vitality; their green leaves turn orange, crumpling into hard brittleness. Eventually they lose their grip and fall from what they've always clung to for life. They hit the ground, vigor and greenery gone from their veins. Soon a little girl who loves the sound of cackling autumn leaves beneath her feet will trample them into nonexistence, turning them into little more than indiscernible pieces that comprise the mosaic of a forest floor.

People are the same. Youth makes fools out of all of us, but with that folly comes the beauty of innocence and naivety. Youth makes the world around us blur, sharpening only the lines of the loveliness we see in the midst of ugliness. But in youth we don't notice those displeasing to the eye.  Vitality, vigor thrums in your veins the moment you realize you've climbed so high up the tree you can see above the gates that surround the only world you knew. It doesn't come to your attention that you might fall, that your fragile little bones might break into so many pieces you forget childish joy. But you don't think about this, because you can see beyond your boundaries. You can see the sunset as its reddish glow sinks seemingly into the earth, bathing your whole world for an instant, in glorious light. You want to climb higher, to see more, to feel taller than everyone else. It doesn't occur to you that this increases danger, that it will be all the more painful for you. Because in this moment you don't know pain. You don't know danger. You don't know fear.

But that's what parents are for. Because they've seen it all, done it all, and they know pain, they know danger, they know fear, and they know that the sun doesn't actually set. They've witnessed the beauty of dawn and dusk you gaze at with so much wonder so many times that they began to see it only as part of time.

They know that some day you will change. You will grow up, and that your eyes will lose their innocence. You will know pain, the kind that doesn't only refer to the little cuts and bruises you get from stumbling and falling. The kind that feels like a black hole has suddenly sprung to life inside you, eating your heart from the inside. You will know danger, the kind that doesn't only mean risk of getting bruised. The kind where you know the full implications of what you are doing, that there is a possibility that you might lose a part of you or the whole of you. You will know fear, the kind that turns your blood into ice, that freezes your heart into eternal immobility; the kind that makes you break into a sweat, that makes every instinct of yours scream for you to run, run as fast as you can.

As you change, as you grow up, you will realize that not everything people say should be taken literally.

And like the trees there will come a time when you will lose your vitality, when you shrivel up and crumple into hard brittleness, full of bitterness and wistfulness. One day you will look at the sunset and tell yourself, "I wish I could be a kid again." Eventually you will lose your grip and fall from what you've always clung to for life. You will fall, vigor and suppleness gone from your veins. Soon your children, their children, their grandchildren, will stand over a coffin-sized hole as they lay you down for your final rest. Soon the earth you've walked on for such a long, long time, will trample you into nonexistence. Decades later, you will be nothing more than indiscernible pieces that comprise the richness of the earth.

Nothing is permanent, but we are all here to create something that is.

Can the skin of my lips touch again the soft suppleness of yours?
I like the euphoria that races down my spine and spreads through me like fever;
Weak and lightheaded, I am painfully vulnerable to its effect.
Giddy like a child to know you feel it too as we linger pressed together.

Can we meld again our faces and make our tongues dance?
I crave the taste of the mint that still haunts your house;
With eyes closed, I greet the endorphins with playful giggles.
Your hands clasped in mine, we brace for the onslaught of our zeal.

Can we again have our souls collide within the envelope of our breaths?
I long for the dizzy heights aloft of my infinite love of you;
Your arms around my neck forcing my head to meet yours with haste.
My hands cradling your backside, drawing our bodies yet closer together.

Can we repeat again the wordless speech, the slow mind coition?
I fancy my heart a metronome escalating a beat in syncope with your own.
A little nibble, a teasing bite, a nosh if you will, as if your silk lined set were food stuffs with gravy.
I suckle the lower lip as if it were an areolar protuberance feeding my infantile psyche.

Can I again passionately conjoin your mouth with mine, and hold you there in my thoughts?
Can I dare evoke the feelings I so wholeheartedly embrace, and return them to you with fervor?
Can we share each other in spontaneity as a hello or goodbye, again my love forever?

Please...!

Can I kiss you again?

-----ChawzzyScript

You came to me, sat facing me
Not knowing one another
Trust hovering waiting to be earned
Stem straight backed with suppleness trampled
Vulnerability would not escape
Your bud delicate, yet tightly closed

Time favoured us with consistency
Week upon week we met
Tracing the weave of your emotion
Winding through tangled threads
Tears buckled up and fastened
Your well was empty

Warmth began, seeping into us
Cushioning your jagged edges of pain
Tears pooled and slithered silently
Your lips their channel to taste
The salty trickle, identifying
The gradual thawing of your soul

It quenched your parched heart
Nourishing its wounds, opening up
To tender shoots growing, searching out
The warm back of the sun
Melting your resistance to change
Rallying you with self discovery

Fresh strands of hope poked
Into daylight asking for direction
Roots began to soak up, trusting
The food of life, reaching for air
With the breath of self acceptance
And the prize of freedom blossoming

I do not understand Pordon when she says
your love makes her “tremble with me
in paralyzing pauses,” nor do I understand
Cummings when the texture of your fragility “compels me
with the colour of its countries.”


Too often poets confuse some high,
a drug-induced elation, with a testament
of love. But it is not some contrived intoxication
that makes me see your beauty as divine
or your voice as some thrill to be craved.


Your touch does not electrify my skin or send me
into the light-headed ecstasy of a common drunk.
But the simple warmth of your center, the smooth suppleness
of each padded fingertip does elicit euphoria in me because it is you,
my earthly lover, who possesses them, and in so possesses me.


Your kiss does not make time speed
through the highways of my mind like
an amphetamine, blurring physics into philosophy.
Rather, your mouth points out the geometric precision
of time compared to the fluidity in
the organic bow of your bottom lip.


I am not addicted to your glances like some aesthetic ******,
because your gaze does not make my heart race
like the hummingbird pace of someone needing a hit
of your rainbow-prismed eye. Instead, it is the complex brown,
turned honey in the sunlight, that stills my heart
whenever you turn from me, because it is that familiar liquid tint
that I love more than any other.


And the sight of you does not commit me to profound
epiphanies on politics or sociology, because, I admit,
you are my favorite distraction, and I prefer looking at you
to some wild hallucination, since I am struck momentarily dumb
by the weighty power of your sudden presence,
left in myopic gratitude until you leave again.


So understand, dear reader, that it was not some chemical
fixation that bound Petrarch to Laura or Dante to Beatrice,
but rather the arresting truth that the million colors poured out
by the sun, the duck fluff softness of the rowdy dogs at your feet,
and the explosive, joyous giggles of the neighborhood children
will continue to exist in heart-breaking beauty tomorrow.

Will you be loving me ‘til time is naught?
Your fingers only know of suppleness,
will they not flinch to touch skin wrinkle-fraught?
My beauty withers, cup reached emptiness…

Your love has set my heart aglow, renewed
‘tis ev’rytime your words lave over me...
Like soothing rain on desert sand subdued,
I soak it in, drunk for eternity

Do forgive me, for ever doubting you,
this pain has ravaged me, yet you’re still here.
‘Tis I you love, this I now know so true,
please stay with me, for death creeps in so near

Let saccharine lips meet for one last time
The windows close now, yet leave love sublime

I envy you
your suppleness of body
tuned muscular perfection
poised between
a creature of land
and a creature of water
shimmering with almost naked
beauty, you dive a perfect ten
into my imagination

Her expectant cordiality locked her away from you.
Where she looked
finches blossomed from the aisles.

His cigarette **** errantry froze him before you.
Where he looked
children dispersed like smoke.

Her gloved discernment hid her suppleness
like a moon in passing,
she had only to reveal a wrist.

His improvisation boredom fended off the breeze.
Where he looked
there were no women left on earth.

*

And on all these passersby,
as when one holds steady the barrel of a gun,
I have steadied my gaze.
And it is for you to know that weight.

Educate our hearts before we speak our minds.
For it is we who keep our shadow company,
not our shadow ours.
I try to catch the latest news,
Lest otherwise,
I become rolled over by it.

And I heard the hiss
Of venomous spinners,
“We must arm ourselves to the teeth...
**** them all! Bomb them all!”
Such comely pundits,
coated in makeup and gloss,
to read incendiary scripts from teleprompters,
to incite and heap bricks of lead
to tip their side of the scales of Justice.

Smoke speaks before fire,
then soon after comes the flame,
and then the wind of sentiment
to fan the inferno.

But who will speak low and soft of love?
Where are the healing eyes
and empathetic ears of poets past
who dipped their feather pens in compassion
and caressed messages, as
balms for our wounds?

Why do we taint the inherent scripture of mankind
with rhetoric and reaction
by those who seek to study the chaff
and not the wheat of a communal harvest?

Our great leaders have gone softly
into their nights…
battle weary
and brittle by war.

So if a bomb explodes at the Café I plan to visit today –
who will avenge my death
and who to see to the seeds I'd sewn
for compassion and peace?

Pray not these men and women on prime media payroll
and those of privileged wealth
and inherited power
who climb the backs of soft singing nightingales
to cackle the message of crows.
I’m none of these.

I was born of the womb,
and crawled to a walk, and thereon
through forests, and mountains, and shores,
shared with all things visible.

My heart rises and falls and races with beauty
and aches with darkness.
I fade, feeling the color run from my hair
and the suppleness of my skin
to dry and wither.

I watch my children quiver
like green leaves on the lithe limbs of youth –
fearing their fall,
but adoring their verdant energy.

All man is by nature equal
before the rise of knowledge –
and as the kingdom rises within each human being,
who will he take for a sage
and who for a fool?

Lo' we must focus the light in our hearts
before we speak from our darkening minds.
For it is we who keep our shadow company,
not our shadow ours.

His lips are plump and magenta like raspberries.

They require a certain delicacy when being kissed,

So the one kissing them can feel the suppleness of the skin;

And instill enough trust in him that he opens them like a tulip with the morning sun . . .

So the one kissing them can taste the Nectar of the Gods.

An imbecile
Knows their limitations
Often
As a cantor
Of the ancient rites.

i have
Released
No spells
In the measures
And cuffs
Of my simple suppleness.

Once  i whispered a chant
And as a result
A family
Of sparrows took
Up a  nest
In my unartful throat.

Throat singing--
My ears
No longer hear
The notes
Of the stars.
Only
My heart
Is luminous
With the beats
With the chirps
Of those beings
Who disturb our sleep
With simple sublimity,
Of inward infinities
Of words.

as haunting
as the rigidness of your back
or suppleness of where that straight line leads

watching her black
dress lying gently
-so that I can just make
out her ***-
if I stare

or pull it over-her
head gets stuck-
as she wiggles
every dance
done at Spring festival - by
harvest fire
that first awakened young boys
to her calling
them to manhood

door ajar
that first peek
held there in bright
film noir
holding
her like Humphrey
Bogart -
15 years later

a promise of Summer in
late August
drug her down
into the open earth
ran her down
hands feasting on suppleness

captured nymphs
sink ships
wrecked upon
loose lips-
wrapt-
lashed
to tortured mast

lower-lip bite
cigarette drag
skirt pull-twist
caress of the inner-thigh
those *******
"**** me" eyes
- cut my neck -
the blood drains
from my mind

she is God
i am devil
wrapt up
in cosmic struggle

snake skin oil
rub cool
coil
my hands
twist - roll -
caress
finger-tips
lips
rattlesnake - she bit -
fell upon my
shoulder winking at
existence
-

Beauty hides from itself
seeking shelter from the doubts
even as the world attests
splendor stated in the flesh
goddess walking in plain sight
this glory is granted to the few
is bequeathed without regard
to acknowledgment repaid in turn

a waking dream of loveliness
enough to launch a thousand ships
disregarded by the one
directing fantasies of the heart
sham daydreams evoked by curves
lines conflating with desires
suppleness leads the urge
to recognize comeliness

ruby lips deny the claim
to the body that puts to shame
the vast majority of their kind
only fair in contrast
this belle exclaimed by the crowd
I’ll lend my voice to the cry
the reluctant may forget
perhaps they’ll recall through this poem.

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180916.

My skin
Once soft suppleness of youth
Now faded with callus.
Your mind
First to please, eager to prove
Grown jaded with malice.
Your hand
Soft softly stroking there
Hangs idle by your side.
And I shall not submit review  
Else would it gut my pride.

You, my love, are the fleur-de-lis.

                 The offspring of innocence

                  The embodiment of purity

 


                           Silk are your eyes

       For they look on with such suppleness

      The lustre of your soul is reflected through those windows

 

                         Fair is your heart

            For it reverberates much passion

               Much tenderness; much hope

                         It loves profound

         With the suave movements of your heartbeat

               Another tender petal falls

 

 

    A touch softer than a summer's evening breeze

    Warmer than early morning's first rays

    More comforting than a new-born's first   motherly embrace

     A touch more hauntingly beautiful than nature's grace

 

 

     Une petite fleur, merveilleuse et vraie

                      Fragrance of divinity

                          Simplistic beauty

     Constantly blooming; forever beguiling

         You, my darling, are the fleur-de-lis.

"my biggest fear is being rejected by a girl."
"what makes you think you would ever be rejected by a girl?"
"past experience."

i furrowed my brows at that
how could any girl
look at you and say to herself
"i can do better"

i know i shouldn't put you on a pedestal,
but i go insane
in love
with the smallest details about you
that you probably don't even notice.

how good you look in purple and blue shirts,
how goofy you look in your yellow work boots.
the sight of you from the behind leaves me breathless,
your hair is longer in the back than in the front.
your deliberate but small sighs in the middle of conversation
when you don't know what to say next.
the suppleness of your fingertips when you toy with rubik's cubes
and how you tote two around in the bottom of your bag
because they're stress relievers.

but
i wanted you to know me in the smallest details
(coffee-stained breath, the lack of separation between r's and e's in my script, broken hair where i shove it in place behind my ear)
and i wanted you to love me in the biggest way
(endlessly)

and i wanted you to know that
there isn't a single person in this world
that i would rather be with than you.

(v.g.w.)

expansion into forever takes a lot of suppleness
a certain willingness to bend and change
the gentleness of a loving heart
and a mind committed to go the whole ten yards

late at night
when the moon is hanging
high in the sky
& the stars luminescence
gently caresses your face

i watch you sleep

in the silence of the room
where only the silence of your breath
can be heard

it is there
i watch you
while we lay
our limbs entwined
like ivy vines
i allow my hand
to forbiddingly touch your face
tracing
the suppleness of your brown lips
that carry the kiss
i wish to savor
like fine wine

while we sleep
we become entangled
in a web of sheets and satin skin
while your arms
bearing the strength of Sampson
cradle me gently & pull me close
my chin rests
in the cook of your neck
where i can smell
the scent of your sweet air
i close my eyes
hold you
& kiss you there
til morning comes
when you have to leave me
once more

Your rhythmic fluidity
and muscular suppleness
Did not outshine your mind
As you ****** mine
To admiration

Too many ghosts
Who’ve drank from the Grail,
Have commented on its peculiar shape:
A vital substance in a Klein bottle
Has nourished the metaphysical,
And gave it suppleness
Like skin, but without nerve-endings—
Like plastic
These mobisian volatilities have taken
All vertices outward, prisons of prisms
Are not special to the spirit inside
But the monstrosity appearing
Astride the Rio Grande:
Eyes and ears posted
All along the prism’s edge
Contain so many lives yet to be lost,
The arms of the ghost
Surround the outside
With rusted-over armor to keep the Fates
Locked away indefinitely
Beating, starving, and ******
All lives coming to the edge of the undead.
There, from across the impossible barrier,
One can see the astral projection
Of death-animate within—
What is a prison outside is, by definition,
A prison inside
Guarded by a lily-white panopticon
And its pale imitations
Kept warm and safe in the rebel’s undead embrace.
When the transformation happened
Is anyone’s guess, but by the love
Of a dispassionate hatred,
A distant, fever-dream voice
From a white house upon a hill,
A clarion made of echoes,
The prisoners latch to one another
And form the body of a great scavenger—
By the vulture’s keen eye for death,
It picks off those who cannot stand
On their own two feet,
Those poor, huddled masses,
In one hand holding the AR-15,
The other, a bushel of nooses.
The vulture screams!
Ride, ride you wraiths!
To the border, ride!
The invasion of pained flesh
Shall never break the adamant heads
Of the patriot’s ghost, hungering
For the blood of a place
Victimed by the very body
It sought to bury,
As the body labors,
Eats nothing but its pride,
Drinks nothing but the slop
From ****-and-vinegar soaked
Rags of American flags strewn,
Torn asunder, ringing them out
To, one day, make Molotov cocktails
So hot, their blaze could boil ectoplasm and
Finally rattle staid hearts
Thousands of miles from the suffering,
A distance turned artist, apathy and hatred
Become this new face of humankind.

Caress my soul
With your silken touch
Let your suppleness
Permeate inside
My parched
And jagged contours
And rouse my deadbeat soul
With a mosaic
Of ambrosial emotions
That have been doused
By my scarred hands
A Long time ago
Let me feast
On your presence
Embrace your scintillating aura
And replenish my ashen complexion
With radiant hues
Let me snuggle within your halo
So I may become whole
Once more