a great yellow thing deep in a primeval forest crouches
ancient as time, it has never known love or kindness
its pink eyes close to slits
another golden teardrop flows into a metallic river of naked lonely beings
formless yet filled with mysterious longing beyond their means
a small bird sings the first song
great yellow things deep in a primeval forest begin to sway
how the daisy petals loft and dance fallen, risen
within the red tidal flesh of lovers, gardens spun, beach whorls
Author notes
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Critical comments??? Who would be so audacious as to even think they would be qualified enough to do so, when it comes to your writing??? 
I know, there are those among us who would trespass in such a way. But do not listen. Never listen to anything but the delicate songs of your pen, Beloved. 
♥
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