Marriage of Oil and Water
Cups thrust high, A diving umbrella licks at many fingers,
rose water licks - and seeks our elbows for a plunge and gathering below.
Now echoes the trumpet prelude, a brilliant flash of praise,
almost a ritual proclamation.
It matters none friend whether you're pro or con.
-When has it ever?
Let us climb the high sun groping forest,
and consume together with glee split faces,
the sloppy viscous sex of misanthropy and philanthropy.
Written by my husband Thielus.
A. Green
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