The art of seeing

to kiss perfection in your lips
the exactness of spirals in
the Golden Mean
the symmetry of verbal skin
frolicking all over
memory’s undercover
tongue of fire and water
tender matrix of divine, devouring
and letting be
what you refused to say

to grope your mind, your soul
between the loins of midnight splendor;
the language of two helices entwined
in the afterglow,
that breath and sound
rippling the lagoon you are
between lips or mirrored mountains
as above so below…

to get lost in the ripple
to know

— BRON JOSEPH C. TEVES