To the World

Love, my love,
my world! My treasure!

Sing to me in undulating tones
of the worlds we have hymned into being!
The bliss of souls, bodiless,
entwined as incense smoke with prayers
carried to that distant Queen
idly playing solitaire while
blithely ignoring her children.

Love, my love,
my multidimensional euphoria!
My hand bound book -- transcendent and glorious!

Let us drink of only the most sublime of vintages,
while away our days in drinking one another in with our eyes;
with our hearts.
Maybe we notice the pleasures of the vine.
Maybe we see only the other.
Iron gall ink is black as your snakeskin shoes,
the scent headier when mix’d with yours.

Love, my love,
my sweet universe!

You hide in bodied shapes
unsuited to your myriad glories.
Hanger of stars!
Author of the Music of the Spheres!
Dancer into being of nebulae.
Nanny to infant worlds,
singing mystic lullabies to star children
in every when in every multiverse...
your voice echoes through my being,
shooting red throughout my golden hues.
Jotting nothings in every language ever conceived -
all translate to ‘this is mine.’

Love, my love,
my world -
there is no life worth living without you in it.
Not at all.