cease the day!
Live for the monets
have no-guilt and overplay
dulled be thine senses now
in the mummyment of eternal mist
My lips to your skin ol`dragoon
as we dance into the polite evening
both dressed in gowns sewed by insect-maidens
Your hat of the hills so neatly covered in crystal snow
as we summon joy by the ancient drum and present flute
There is much lighjt in your eyes now,silence between your divine lips
yet,i hear you peak
within my core
Letting us both be carried into that all-nourishing presence
of the ancient ones
