Literature
Delicious: the drink of you
When I return to this,
(by that I mean you)
I see gold where gold should never be.
(in your eyes, the lines of your jaw)
Each vein takes a trip on the infatuated gliss
while streams of my mind's liquor leave me
drunk.
I'm not obsessed,
(addicted would be better)
rather I'm a habitual dreamer
(or hallucinator)
chasing cherry-golden treasures, my elixir:
the scent of sunshine over the fields of wrinkling lilies,
of petals shielding memories, of
tears that sweeten bitter stubborn hearts.
The remedy: neurological nightshade.
Forced sanity is vulgar, lukewarm.
It tastes of crushed lavender brimming over salt water.
It fills my ey
gave me the thought for this one.