Behold Beatrice, Pitcairn

Behold Beatrice, Pitcairn the paradise sunsets lie in Tahiti sunrise, the folly of Easter islands, sanitoriums, deluded, denuded limbos and purgatories, the never evermore Polynesian metaphors transmigrate my mind O to graze with the deer, dear the tree never falls silently lizards scatter, birds scurry to flight i could never buy into falling silence let alone fate of Galileo's descending weights church theologians preferring an atheist Aristhrottle forgive me for being sententious dear no pity for Cyrano the hidden Darcy in another failed Benedick in port without Dante's delusions love with no embrace Service, woman, a slightly tainted saint Tennyson's wound that never heals Petrarch, Augustine, it grows insane ah the vicissitudes, where was i yes, leaving metaphors and literate men your laughter starts in those ignescent eyes ignition, brush fires of rippling ballerinas facial muscles lost in abandonment to some elfish music i see, never hear lips widening, bursting rubaiyat pandemonium i adore your infectious risibility it is your amatory smile i love most demure, candles gamboling in the moonlight i am a moth lost in the flames of your demanding timidity it is then i see in your eyes the dove gracing your hands the beast who serves your lust this is why the Norsemen fear nothing but women swords once ready, berserkers, Odin now lie silent volcanoes in my heart, Freya the seas are without headstones and i am wondering again terricolous all of this are the clouds overhead it is the heavens i see in your eyes not the red dawn i fear we see the jungle, its' song, inevitable war the struggle to stand in the light possibly besotted, erratum the seas have long not cared with you, i learn, heal we are undeniably humanity we are paradise lost the hells of yesterday need not rule the heavens of today your arms gravid with red sunsets fill my deepest hopes of all morrows its' ultimate price is gladly paid Miramar 94 The Patient Stones Revised 5/22 OKC see on Youtube Shakespeare's Sonnet 116 Is Not What It Seems there are certain words in here common in 19th Century literature that always remind me....besotted with Jane Austen