whose ass gets sore from meditating
whose eyes burn with the beauty of others
whose lips taste the sacrament of kisses
laid on your fine knees O Lord
and other open places
but I walked right out on my sensual life
went into solitude with my soul
my passion was threatening
my enlightenment one of us
had to go or take on the lark’s
or the nightingale’s out-thrown songs
as earnest payment on tomorrow’s sun
as answered promise from the only one
No comments:
Post a Comment