Sophisticate mysteries of love, golden
little deceits breathed beautiful
in an effortless wind.
Move.
Move me.
Move me through the lingering aromas
of the Pomegranate
Cottage. Infuse me by the
pretty starlit pools. I am at the edge of our
desperation
retreating from this world of bliss and lies.
The asylum of our youth keeps me. A
memory. A mid-
September kiss
in the grove when our opulence
was still assumed. And now has age provided
me nothing except a
remorseful insight? Look out
over this…
over this creation. God’s only strength resides solely in
our ignorance. We are simply
the merry
and the damned.