Hot, this friction now evolving,
electrically, in energy that
grows in weaves and webs
that reach beyond the world
of all we used to know as real.
Erosion of erosions, etching
in the sands of all of mind,
akin to living, desert winds
that stretch the sand into
eternal ridges of belief.
When will we find the sketch
that might endure into infinity . . . ?
if not within these forms of flesh,
abiding in abeyance,
just beyond all time and space.
Where spirit comes to interlace
in unending seeds of happiness,
and moisture flows within unending gales
of the power of one natural,
emotive, sweet release.
That blinds us to the binds
opening forever into those unending fields
that speak beyond all words into
the power of the dawn;
requiring no more than this expression
to reach again a source of understanding.
As friction, hot, becomes
behind the power of everything
that dares to speak and reach
and touch this flesh
and its forever undiluted
feel of ecstasy . . .
? Michaelette ?
Copyright© 2001 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home...