Taut vines
now sway
lolling in the breeze
weeping with joy

Bless this beautiful mess

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

so low
my fruit
heavy
bearing
your light
bare feet
piercing me
with their
high heels