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There is an ocean in my candle.
the sea beneath it, is a soliloquizing Poseidon,
fears of shells transporting
your nightly, erudite kisses to me;
you have only seen in dot com pornography…
but you are a god, whose stubborn prongs
certain of stirring quakes are capable of:
unfed cats, broken plates, torn curtains, burnt garaged cars,
smashed walls, scattered continents, and cosmic changes;
(among other cataclysmic chaos) in my tranquil home.
The sea is an oceanic fire,
from my ruddy (but fast melting) candle, nonetheless
I am helpless at the raging tempest,
but cocoons my fears from your innocent love --
it drowns me -- the air dispels
the ghost of your gauzy smokes,
pervades my lucent, wily mind
from touching your trident every second
I am a blind, all-seeing imp of your desires,
a mere wick dwindling in our darkness.
Seen from andronymous blog
Be daring, be different, be impractical, be anything that will assert integrity of purpose and imaginative vision against the play-it-safers, the creatures of the commonplace, the slaves of the ordinary. -- Sir Cecil Beaton (1904-1980) English photographer