There I image your geni

Profoundly, dramatically, erotically and whole hale heartedly immersed in mysteries;

With just a touch of the mysts and a firm grasp on the trees

Nor should we let the teri-firm slip away from her toes

Save every syllable

Open the mysteries

Mists clay trees, syllables

Sylvan lips in misted communion with clay and limbs

All the more should flourish of the trying

May beauty, in the eye of the beholder

Burst like fire show crystanthemum in the air and wrap you

Hovering in their mysts and hold you there

Limbs, mists, lips, trees, clay

Have we forgotten anything

No, nothing more than we have forgotten these

I would be there

Arthur Joseph