Who could
possibly create the frame you do?
Through your
sweetly organized arrangement
my eyes
understand again exactly why they see.
The flicks and
licks of light around the sides of you
do arabesques
for me – summer-night al-fresco
tricks of sight
in which each holographic piece evokes
the dazzling
whole. Your shadow wings around
the center of
whatever I could ever want to look at:
sings a
barcarole: flings my love up like a baby in
a doting
father’s arms: wields excruciating charms:
provokes the
soul. I wonder how you fill this hole:
immanent as
rhythm through the body from the heart:
drum-roll in a
movie: you are careless, perfect Art:
a tremor in the
blood, assimilating every feeling in
its stream. I wonder why I ache so in this dream.
.
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