Love

The dialogue is love. It saturates every fiber of

The soul. It intoxicates the spirit. Thus, evermore

I dwell at its tavern. I sip from its heavenly goblet,

Thereby, dancing in the spirit. It’s the stimulus of

Miracles—the parent of eternity. From depth the

Soul, I’ve courted love, inscribing its portrait

Upon spiritual leaflets. I’ve partaken of its doctrine,

Inebriated in the spirit, adrift the seventh heaven.

Love is an invasion, permeating the psyche,

Surging through the actuating-cause. I burn for the

Face of love: its depth, its width, its episode. It’s

Ever upon my imagination, as sturdy as oak,

Intriguing my passions come sunrise. Indeed, the

Dialogue is love: its reach, its breadth, its texture.