Rounded willow
Like an elephant's trunk
roots
my lonely feet.
...
So what becomes of you, my love,
when mayhem blooms
to the swollen zenith?
...
All those mornings
i woke up
with your heart,
and dead throbs,
...
One star lit night on the terrace
off a star lit sky
my soul caught
the gold
...
Olden sediments, from the first mornings,
Baked into hues, green n blue,
O'er yonder, by the parent sun,
Have bloomed again.
...
Oh, thou woman of dark flesh
of swaying hips
and dancing feet
thou tempt me
...