beginning of my word

but now
does it matter as we think

as still of my still we sit
of love unto you 
my warmth must be 

a divine soul so complete
of  weary past
where the tears rest
so dull a life
so to the eyes
a white of glitter

rippling into another dance of time

the words so scattered 
into a romance rejoicing
to be still to be on time
we will love
like a butterfly upon a flower lust
we will love