Are you willing to intrude where
stars are fond to go, obliterated
by their mass or failure to relinquish
a fading radiance? In this way,
the privilege of love and joy gathers
pace and blood like light and light
where it rushes towards the rose
burning like an empty house, a fever
in a dying child, colors that which
it devours with brilliant red. Undressing
love, hands on fire, blinds the eye, strips
the soul to its naked, natural splendor.
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