Oh so deadly

(Scarlet dreams, my love; and such tulip rain.) The sun is
Africa, my love: the moon is Europe. And alpine asters—a
Dreamy state; and portrait perfect—a psychedelic. I was
Ruined, my love: blind and sick, and whet and sleep. You
Were life, as brave as an Amazon lily. We nibbled and kissed,
And loved and died. And so many begonias, lost in the
Waves of lust. Indeed, my blanket flower: I’m bleeding
Heart-wine, and leaking Champaign—and there you stand,
Naked and enlove. Such passion fruit and moister; and
Dragons and snakes and rapture. Move a star, my love; and
Vex us once more. For we argue for less reason; and fall with
Such reason; and value is short lived; and we scrape a sky-heart.
What was love?—our perfect trap; and what was death; our
Perfect life. And breadnut for breakfast; and lobster for
Dinner; and fireplace love; and walnut tears. It was oh so
Perfect; and oh so enchanting; and oh so deadly, my love.