Wishing Well

My mystic mare, aflare the heart, a missile spear, a sacred
Spark. And fantast  flame, the frame of light, a cultic crush,
The flux aflight. And fulgent  fey,  the grey of death, the
Pulse of flare, a conscious kef.  My mystic mare, a spirit
Minx,  a lambent star, a mortal sphinx. I drift afar, to gaze the
Flame, to feel the pith, the kiss of pain. For destined death, a
Constant deed,  a plangent  force, a cryptic seed. And candent
Heart, a furnace hell, for love’s adrift—a wishing well.     

My mystic mare, aflare the heart, a missile spear, a sacred
Spark. But febrile  tears, affix  the soul, a cultic ache, a
Flaming cold. For freshet  light, a mare aloof, a fever torn,
The mourn of truth. And spirit scud,  aloft a stream, a motion
Flame, a conscious dream. But candent heart, a furnace hell,
For love’s adrift—a wishing well.