The sickly symptoms of the sensual
too long sublimated will up and bite
one direct upon the proverbial
buttocks. Respectful wonder at the might
of certain hiply amplitudes is but
the fate of forces quite sub-atomic.
Attempt if you will but you cannot shut
the fine fount down, that's just tragicomic.
The most sublime still undergo a change
of state when the ripe fruit bends down the bow.
The blood's swoon indicates you're well in range
of the incessant sun's burning prayer- "now."
He whose hunger is humming is his hands
walks sweet beaches on Venusian sands.
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