Ode to Love mine *

Reading you,
Passion mine,
Is like touching Thine,
Feeling thy leaves,
That murmur, smelling
So much of ink, inked as we
Become after a few thousand centuries,

Living for Thou,
Red lips,
Touché,
Believe,
Love mine,

even before birth
Whence Thou hath holden me
In your heart of a belly,
Or in your Eyes,
Envisioning
Our story,

Where i tried hard,
To make Thee, maid,
You going to the workplace,
Sad, your boss being obstinate,

Where i tried to recreate
Your smiles, dimples
Deep in cheeks Thine,
And that mole
Just before your upper lip,

O how many nights,
Beau,
Only , for you,
Have i spent
My self, burning,
Like a wax candle,
Hot, molten wick
In me burning,

O how many days
i skyrocketed,
balloonist how
I be came,
For you,
Beau,

Hath Thou read (?)
Those days
Of sun flowers bursting open
Spraying pollens,
All over leaves
Mine,
For you,

O my passion
Red lipsticked
Beau,

And whence
You thought
Of figuring me out,

Zero,
Null,
A Void,

Whence Thou tried
To fill,
By thy writing,

I thought
Feathers ran

Over me,

Feathered how
I became,

Loving ye,

O how,
My opened book,
Flowers came,
Gardens spread
A few thousand acres
Ares, Eros, Philos, Agape,

Lemniscate,
Lying eight,

Paintings how they in pages bred,
Historically you
Wrote all that,

Yes,
True,

O my Beau,

Hath Thou read that too(?)

And seasons
They passed through us,
Aren't they,
Our skin whence became
Translucent,

Trees ,
Paradiso,
They all see,
Canst you,
O my Beau,
How came home ours
Small,

Angels, they perhaps hovered
Not like cupid shooting arrows,

But perhaps
That tale,
Love,
Venus whence
us, so blessed
Rising out
Of oyester shell,
And salty waters,

O passion mine
Rode i through
Only for you,
Wrote too,
For You,
O my passion,
Red lips,
For Thou,
Beau.

(*Note: upon a painting, loosely based,
Courtesy : Sam Carlo)