Oh watch not the flight of the golden sparrow, see it in my eyes instead,
for in a meadow each pace or cathedral organ’s swell
or strand of oceaned gleaming hair across a lover’s steadfast mouth
lie immeasurable solo odd chords sliding under the bass clef
I know
and I know fragrance of finite envelopment
is a sound mere of orgasmic hum observed by flesh alone,
an entropy, the lading of pollen by lilies
through flights of birds
or duet squeezed like ripe plum through virgin tendrils
as unity, mixture or solution
I know
and I know sound of infinite release is the feel mere
of an orgasmic shrink of almost anything
save the giving of birth
except a unity squeezed like ripe plum through virgin tendrils
as solo, mixture or solution
an entropy, the lading of pollen by lilies through flights of birds
all that, a cauldron pulse of murderous logics pretending a magical random math
— the firmamental metronomic, a lustre’s curl swathed of dust
but flesh beloved braids flesh beloved a mathless seduction
and the twine of your touch is sweet chaos.
Oh watch not the flight of the golden sparrow, ride within my eyes instead.
... only judges may foolishly there tread, and my Swan, of course, and the other three who are allowed to challenge my mastery of the language 
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