Summery glitch.

A purple orchid sways in the wind,
Lively as a woodland nymph,
Waving on a swing,
That was carved from the finest stone
Alabaster in the hands of a sculptor,
Perfumed with muslin and splashes of water.

My eyes found their way to his
In a twisted summery glitch,
That of the lost Arcadia of the dead poets.
The chimera of a garden of hopes
With the harbinger of a cruel vulture,
Stalking my silhouette.

I wished to taste the syrup of his lips
To crawl through the girdling meadow,
I would clasp my palms together in an asana
Making a vow to the effulgent gaze of his collarbone
I submerge in the purple and blue rivers of his veins
Wandering at the amber of his pupils, one lies
Tasteful as the fur of a black cat.
With a jovial warmth to which the willow in autumn comes


Would he let me in?
Into the labyrinth of his thoughts
Into the depths of lightless caves,
To the foliage of the jungles within,
With an ecosystem to explore
The sanctuary of his padlocks,
On the mountain top where no one can disturb
To the fireworks that spring up at midnight,
I don't mind being his lucky ticket,
To be his Helen or Delilah
For whom his gods make a quarrel
For whom his strength surrenders in a dungeon in gloom.