Flight fallen on the interlude that feast impression on your eyes,
I, taken aloft by this fancy foremost in the implosive regions of my mind,
tarry in the floating realms so far above the land, that, below me lies.
I know, I so very know, you long to place your lips on lushness fruit, biting to the rind,
I want, I need, I so very crave, the adoration of this consumption,
that will suck away the clatter clang of my intruding thoughts,
that shriek and shatter any isle of pulseless quiet meditation,
I feel without the feigning faith of morality, to be swallowed up in droughts.
It is the hunger to be hungered, the thirst to be thirsted, that you make me feel.
Fairy light of faerie tail, that glamor casting shadows to the bright,
blind bedazzled, not just bewitched, a sunrise of the night,
that dark dawn that late hours brings, that opalescent sky of quiet clear,
when all that is close is far, and infinity brought near.
Travesty of tension to suspension, that bridges islands sluiced by acid time,
pristine from painted distance, yet close made of dirt and grime.
The little grit and debris that passion leaves behind,
are the irritant in present face of thinking mind,
that prove the illusion's weight was then more solid far, than anything of real.
Stage struck by standing up above, my glance denudes below,
I look down at tufts of black tangled hair, that is the forest to where you go.