Make my body, your personal
Pomegranate fragrances, stamp me with
Kisses of meaning, leave no scent
.
)
But your inscriptions of spice, Romance
As spoiled as lyrical Sundays, vineyards
Of affection, where we revel in each other
>
.
Keep my mouth, cinnamon & pineapple
Close to your nipple, close to your sweet voice
Where I can hear and taste your
.
)
Excavations of Beloved tyranny, Syrup joys
That glance down the crying Theatres of Bliss
That is ours like, hours stamped with our Genius
>
.
In the happy Journal of our fractal predictions
We friend-touch each other violating aches and years
Of loneliness, where nothing was whispered from the garden
.
)
Of Legendary mortality, dream-state aqua-drums of the dance
Make my body, your weight of maddest hopes
Embraces of permanence, leave no mood unturned
>
.
No pollen of the Brain left filtered, but brine me Thy
One True Self, that I might adore your singularities
As if they were a part of my own native Revelations
.
)
Our souls will join upon these fallen Leaves
And I shall kneel with a handkerchief to clean the dirt
From the dirty Sun of our loveless travels, breathless with age.
Wuji Seshat 