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.
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
Universe, You allow me my happenstance and I happen to love you.
The lake luxuriates in deep infinity