Let us speak of love,
of dear enthralled enchantment.
Ecstatic rush that drugs wish they could bring.
Mood’s choral turns to Spring.
That special lethargy that poets faux affect,
reflective as a silver pool.
We like the love that lets us play the fool,
exudes good humor, respite from
sober shame of longing heart.
That flame, that spark that arts
wish power to capture,
Tongues entwined in love, we speak
outside of language,
breaths of bliss.