What’s the path, my love?—for ours is the calligraphy of Spirit. Thus, through love we taste the essence of Immortality. But tears have become a puddle. The thicket Is insufferable. And joy has never felt so effulgent. It’s The paradox of love—the texture of confusion. My love, The garden is filled with dreams, and we have walked the Axis of visions, edging the precipice of despair. But your Smile, as radiant as sunbeams, permeating the universe. Our contradiction is a cosmic fable, where lovers both fall And rise simultaneously. It digs into the psyche, a godly Seesaw, the pendulum of mystery. And it infuses the soul With the inexplicable. Upon a whetstone passions are Exhausted. It’s the majesty of birth, royalty, and life. It’s Beyond measure, churning the stomach unto explosion.
Late Night Poets 