Cornicopiaphilia

Art does not merely imitate life,
but rather there is an art to living.

Through the liquid maze
of our biologic natures
we reach out
and in
and thread our hands
in searching culminations
such to seize
the momentary flicker
of the flame
of sensual experience,
not as robbers do
but bold
and in the light
for all the stars
to glory
in the assembling
of existence.

This thin gossamer
of time
must be breached
with this colossal understanding
that when we're thrust
into the fray
of our cosmic host
such that we,
in the consideration,
might touch the sanctum
that is meant
for us,
umbilical to monument,
we are meant
to touch
the creamy center
of all consciousness,
an intimacy
of knowing
and in being,
onward meant
for being known.