The black streams ripple your name tonight.
Your smile as a lotus-flower,
Carelessly drifts down the brook.
It's in this stillness that the Pebbles
Offer their prayers for you.
They're innocent that way,
Like a child attempting to grasp the sun.
If I were able to redeem
The giggles from the thicket of your throat;
Like a cavalcade, I'd charge the dark purple
Caveat of your consciousness;
Where revelation is suspended between the soul and sadness;
There where the larks are free.
Tonight! I would that we were Lorikeets
Soaring into the nothingness of tomorrow.
Do not fear oblivion, my dear,
It's just a heteronym for romance-
At the core of the marauder moon
Lies our amalgamation---
If you must! --- Then rant against the stars.
Demand to know of their happiness. But the
Stars are not happy, mi amor, they're
Content; like a martyr, there's a difference.
Among the pantomime of the pantheon
My fugacious words rise like wax wings;
They've melted and Puddle around your feet.
Tonight I would that we were seraphs consumed by a quasar,
And kindle the earth with our iridescence.