PBJ

I am no more than a shell where the sea-swell goes on roaring.

You're ringed by fire. Its flashes delight me too. I am not frightened, beneath your tender eyelashes, of summer lightning.

Across hundreds of summers, I send you my kiss.

Tenderly treading through snow-swirls, Hung with threads of snow-pearls,

She stood on the terrace shaking the wet honeysuckle over her face, breathing its perfume, a creature momentarily compounded of dew and air and fragrance.

Something dreamy and dark, with distortion. Something I could close my eyes and drown in beautifully.

Where do I come from? Where do I come from? That I reek of the smell of night?

With eyes like the sky, dripping their dark silks.