Indwelling

Spirit infuses the soul. I’m intoxicated by the formless. Such
Passion. Prosaic perfection. Manifested in visions. And my
Love, the symmetry of spirit, a raining torch. Such richness, a
Winecellar of grace, purging a riddled soul. But absolved, a
Fervent prayer, unto heartache and fatigue. Thus a touch of sin,
Discolors the soul, unto affliction. But my burning surge, I
Dare awaken infinity, for love, a raging force. Wherefore, mystic,
The ache of passion, a colorful urge. And lightening, a vibrant
Stream, as fitful as vibrations. But nettled, my weary heart, for
Love, a plaguing sore. Thus aflame, falling into infinity, adrift
The vacant skies. It’s spirit, deafly afflicted, imploring an
Empty space. But love, the levity of logic, a fervent endeavor.
And I dare believe, despite the pain, adrift a flaming sigh. Thus,
My love, utter confusion, opus of my nightmare.