Untameable Butterfly Emanations That Pierce The Infinite Sky Into Synchronicity (Live)

Most majestic of muses,    
you are irreplaceable and magnificent,  
a beautiful chainbreaker,    
a key for a lock that forgot it was a lock.    
    
As burnt midnight rises with smoky delerium    
this mountaintop chest alights on wings of insatiable singularities,    
heartshapes that ruby-kiss blinking eyes into fluttering reverie;    
parallel worlds sit boldly upon a old wooden table like a wizard’s wand waiting,    
specters of possibility haunting the halcyon hills of a stardust-born species.    
   
And the soft spray of your ornate waterfall    
blossoms into thrilling understanding.    
   
Soaring into the flames of cosmic stenography,    
we incinerate carbon-heavy stories with splendid starspeak,    
the shared language of primordial dynamite    
guiding us through billion-year cosmological shadows.    
   
A step forward neutralizes colossal magnetic fields;    
stanzas of adoration come crashing feebly to the ground,    
the nectar of transition metals oozing sweetly at your feet.    
   
I am merely composed of ground    
but still journey into your thrumming azure portal    
where otherworldy dimensions unfold like dark matter origami in your hand,    
you, lodestone warden to even the most expansive creations,    
I, shattered into unworthiness,    
a smiling servant scrambling for each plate-fallen crumb of comfort,    
a swarm of funhouses taught the epiphany of gravity    
then dropped from an infinite series of superearths    
until the memories of your astonishing face begin to assemble,    
as if the past was the future, and the future was the past.    
   
II.    
In these hallowed stairwells of palatial reverence,    
midnight hovers in anticipation of every jagged and starry starscape.    
   
Even in the pale underburn of night,    
you spring forth like a canon-shot daredevil,    
El Sol embracing your bright sky creativity    
from the other side of the world.    
   
Pondering the geometry of your soaring spider-web hemispheres,    
I surf towards towering, endless waves of poesy:    
bubble up motion, balloonrise femininity uncurling    
like sunworn, bottle-bound messages,    
space-time hurling dancing jigs into the poetic abyss,    
rhythms elucidating the magical oceans of the present,    
war means wardrums beats enough to transmogrify the moon into a second star.    
   
III.    
Cool aloofness of night    
that swirls in the evening swell.    
   
Inspiring howls of human poetry    
that tickle my spiralling heartsong.    
   
Oh,    
how I wonder    
what sublime stars    
you are under.