Skimilvee this, and jorating us that
around the sculpting parapet.
Pleady, the cosmities open and close
and stars swim around in the bath.
Immanent, always the commuting desire
allaying our jittles and wrath-
turning lead into gold, then likewise is sold
and evaporates in a quintet.
So, jorate the statumly, conquer the reavenly
all you would want, or even empath
Turns back in a cyclic anomaly
and sculpts a new parapet.
Emerging in the sleeping dew
with softened morning light,
are you among the sable fringe
casting forth your bright?
Walking on the air of day
with wisps of gleaming kismet,
are you sprite or angel summoned
without claim to coquette?
I comfort your implied embrace,
the smile you offer as you roam,
the auric presence you have shared
lives inside this poem.