Born of beauty, lust and sin; a whispered name
on lovers' wanton lips beguiles.
I trace the silken fibers of carnality, naked
and beckoning of intrinsic penetration.
A harbinger of solidarity, reflecting pools flood
the portage trail where we are set adrift on currents
that submerge sanguine expectations of solitude
rode beyond a warlord sun, a burning star.
Orgasmic waves assault walls of given surrender mercilessly
and I swallow the saffron heat of anguish. Love is cataclysmic;
I weep for it. I cling to it with Trophonian arms
and a heart imbued with dolor.
"Love is the voice under all silences,
the hope which has no opposite in fear;
the strength so strong mere force is feebleness:
the truth more first than sun, more last than star." — E.E. cummings
(Artwork by: Gerard Fieret)