Lost in Celebration


Lost in the fields of your hair
I remembered the fragrance there, of the Earth
And Peach blossoms of the souls
That I left behind, so lovingly
That I forbid myself to love again –
In the dark, of beautiful and corrupt humanity
There were no bruises like the empty space
Of living alone, for penniless years
I became a master of loving without objects
Of instructing myself how I might survive
On beauty alone, without a face
To reflect it back to me, I was
The last horizon of wonder
Guilty for not traveling, like you have –
I lost myself in the fields of your hair
Counting the contracts, countries, poems
You encountered, here at the soft lines
Of your cheeks, I looked in awe beyond beauty
For the sound of your voice, the locket of hair
Where I might find the secret to comb everything
That jar of oil, that caress of celebration
That could possibly make me groan at the roots
Look down from the skyline of the cityscape
At how lovely the world could truly be.

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