I undress the beauty clutched to skin
her milken eyes do the flavour
As dusk-flesh seems to grow to moon-night
Pardon me oh my beau
Thy sun is not in thy body
carving into thy golden clouds
Thy sun is not in thy body
carving into thy golden clouds
are but clinging things called skies - angel's elixir
Oh what beauty in but in the flesh of one
the mortal combinations so overflown
in the delicate, the coarse tranquilty mates with discordance
Thy soul's weaving such a splendid flawed portrait..."
Thy soul's weaving such a splendid flawed portrait..."
No comments:
Post a Comment