Caught
in the net of gold stars.
Wrestled with the beast of space.
Danced in the grace of giants that race,
human, mutant or alien, we decorate with
the silent era of Gods.
Small in nectar of honey, and lavender fruits.
The aromatherapy, succulent.
Fluctuating pleasures.
That feeling is Andromeda.
The cup is over flows as the gilded stream
beyond the Midas scorch.
The aphrodisiac.
Within the crystal
goblet.
The seeking
mist of
tongue
and
cheek.