Kissing Each Angel to Sooth

It sure is nice
To feel utter joy
At every thought of you
And every image that is similar too.
It is wonderful to smile
Dreaming of the future
And sigh at the present time
And what I know of you.
This feels itself like a rhyme.
Sentimental sick this soft
Wording withering the wild
Hardness hidden here
Between the blood vessels boiling
In insatiable introspection
Of outward obligations
That threaten all though
“Sudden a thought came like a full-blown rose,
Flushing his brow, and in his pained heart
Made purple riot: then doth he propose
A stratagem, that makes the beldame start:
‘A cruel man and impious thou art:
Sweet lady, let her pray, and sleep, and dream
Alone with her good angels, far apart
From wicked men like thee. Go, go! –I deem
Thou canst not surly be the same that thou didst seem.’”

Heath Achatz
4.9.04