Love

The dialogue is love. It saturates every fiber of 
The soul. It intoxicates the spirit. Thus, evermore
I dwell at its tavern. I sip from its heavenly goblet,
Thereby, dancing in the spirit. It’s the stimulus of
Miracles—the parent of eternity. From depth the
Soul, I’ve courted love, inscribing its portrait 
Upon spiritual leaflets. I’ve partaken of its doctrine,
Inebriated in the spirit, adrift the seventh heaven.
Love is an invasion, permeating the psyche, 
Surging through the actuating-cause. I burn for the
Face of love: its depth, its width, its episode. It’s
Ever upon my imagination, as sturdy as oak, 
Intriguing my passions come sunrise. Indeed, the
Dialogue is love: its reach, its breadth, its texture.

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