Cry the Flame

Pluck a calla, my love; and meditate life; and touch a star:
The face of dreams. We rise and fall with such grace; and
Such pleasure, my love. Your scent: an aphrodisiac: Your
Heart: a locomotive. I’m revved, my love: an engine—

Revving; and such color: the art of wings; and feel the
Soul: a silent drum; and touch a thought: a web of love.
We die—an orchestra; and burn a furnace; and paint to
Brush: the scope of streams; and gas to soul: the womb of

Dreams; and arm to thigh; and thigh to arm: the mind of
Lust: the lust of souls. We flourish—a slight miracle: the
Offshoots of pash; and your love: a taste of freedom; and
Freedom: a taste of cuffs; and we dine: a lonely love: and
We grind: a crowded love. Indeed a hive of bees; and we
Yearn the honey; and we cry the flame.