Unborn Alive

We’re unborn love: asearch for breath; and pond to heart—
A voice of tears; and gaze the moon: heaven’s near; and
Sleep and leap—my daisy blue—and mourn the loss—a
Treasured few. Here’s a tress—my love: ignite a wick; and

Silk to flame—a southern kiss; and such the grace—a
Gracile soul; and fly the night: the pressures cold; and born
Again—a field of leaves: for squirrels and birds and oaken
Trees; and where the ghost—a silent sneeze: a mind of

Light, and prayerful knees; and cheerful eyes—the blood of
Pain: a cultic joy: a voltic rain; and thus the flame—a
Cryptic view: a vault of voids: a seed to strew. Our life of
Gold—a strong affair: a sight of strife—and northern
Glares; but not to slake—our gems and vines—and not to
Quench—our pearls divine.