A mountain of blue-gray looms over the dark horizon bouyed by a soft expanse of pink and the delicate, ruddy strip of peaceful, glowering foothillsfalling away to twilight
My poppy wildflowers recklessly bloom An enthralling spread rushes past the ego and quickly covers all patches of hate and sin is a needless worry of the past.
Rollicking lilting: an unseen young woman's chortle haunts my ears. Angelic chuckling softens my heart. Occasionally, in a swooning despair, I lean out the window to blindly seek her face, the fount, only to be splashed with a fresh outpouring of cherubic mirth. Assured, languid, bright, content — all I've wanted to experience in a woman. Intermittent eternal trumpet of joy — tittering with gusto — driving me up to heaven.
Unenlightened, I am still washing dishes and harvesting bamboo and I still carry the woman I helped across the river in my heart.
had I only known, I would have yielded my beauty
Others put on dressy lies. Your style is ready-to-wear for a palace.
The swordsman beheld the sword. His blood called to it. It sliced him, singing.
Men make things. Women make things worthwhile.
As God, I completely and utterly heal myself and The World and enlist my angels to do my biding and I entrain my lovers to prepare their bodies and their souls for my dallying and ravishing and delight
My heart is a steak marinated in love, tender from nashing, raw, then seared, asizzle