Feather Electric -

The art of thought is our lovemaking connection, histories a ladder to hypnotic healing, corrections uninvited to our planet of puzzling passion where a man and a woman make maps with crayons borrowed from the cries of curiosity's cravings, uncaring of the unwanted, lawless in the laps of circumstance's tracks, Homer & Tacitus imploring their heros to hush as we warm arteries with a potion of Poetry unknown 'till now, a tempest of truth she is to me, teasing with pause & prance, with virtue & volatility, with the caution of a Queen & frivolity of airborne feathers, I did not ask for her, nor wish her to squeeze my heart, regardless, I am now selfish, hunting for her hints aspiring for the apple of her knowledge, for the seed of her permission in my pulse, I need her to sweat for my sweetness, my will to hide abolished in the heat she spreads in spades, I love my poet girl, sometimes I am sorry for it, always excited by it, sorriness skipping like a song wandering for a world with no wastings, believing in beauty because she breathes, I would tell God to wait so that I may play a moment more with my poet girl, exchange another story, build another belief, to bring our fears one step closer to nowhere, to walk our eyelashes one centimeter nearer to completion's tear, having our harvest support Heaven's uppermost tier - J.A.B.