there is something in your name quaking me, aching me, cascading pretentious maturity, infiltrating my ultraviolet core; edit and partition me in spectral chapters, bind me with lumens of unqualified delight; there is something didactic and ancient in your name commanding syllables to drape themselves around my knee-jerk tongue, they shift my paradigm and all conflict is wasted as pleasures of otomotopia reverberate while crisping my italic font. something ecstatic in your name succumbs me, curls me like a restless puss moth weaving seas of silk fantasia; in time we emerge from our cocoon, abandoning the enveloped clairvoyant speech--and both of us are captured balanced-off. © 2003 by cynth'ya lewis reed