How is love like sleep,
fullness of dark when
dream fires and rides
a sundering perfume
it is redolent of Jasmine
Strike into dream,
attared and resplendent
dreamer and dreamed.
and bring back a vial
of lethe for there lies
memory out of time
might I have a cup full
of lightning to drink to
infuse my words with
thunder. This voice
electric and neon and
searing, splits the seams
leaks in and out of
every sybilant sound.
silver quick and taught,
to beguile.
How is love like awakening
in the day that distills the
dark of a thousand nights
dream to dream to dream.
how does it whisper straight
into the unconscious so that
the conscious forms it as
outward speech. the cup
fills with lightning that
storms night into day
and day to night and that
storm is the story of love.
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