The dream of beholding,
Your round, withered beauty.
With magnetic attraction,
Of Aristotle’s profound deity.
I ponder this question, on the eve
Of knowledge, to beyond good and evil.
The way you hang upon the tree,
Absorbing colors, like a dream.
You tempt me like a plant of intoxication,
That I have grown to love.
The smoke of harmony,
To perceptions far and beyond.
You hang by a small thread,
That turned all fabrics of time.
Your heated color, burns like fire,
And your lies, are sweeter than truth.
I’m drawn inside your absorbing glow,
With illusions sublime, a sonata for two.
The media of poison, held so perfectly,
To obtain possession for the fairest of us all.
On a still summer day, we climb up and consume,
For all you bring, while in bloom.