Written after reading a poem, actually quite bad (perhaps it was the translation,) by the old world poet Lacelles Abercrombie.

Published in "Flying Mermaid" Newsletter.

We are yours, dear love, sum and composition
as if you were the profound thought
and we, the utterances of such thoughts-
the very inferno of your musing

Yet, neither razed nor charred through your imagining,
we are weathered without weakening to the tempest
of your song, with it’s subtlest undertone and meaning,
for in your name of shameless indulgence we become

We pay heed, in memory of the fool, and king
left to rule thrones of filth, cradles of waste
by your fickle distaste and whimsy waking
only for the instant it takes to wane

For you, dear love, wear your power like a cloak
of sunlight and moon, offering shimmers of brilliance
alongside the windswept flippancy of darkened hope
concealed unto itself by the fragile veil of indifference

You make a hazard of the stars, and home built on winds,
echoing in both the liturgy of exultation, vernacular of sorrow,
and ultimately the most profound which is unspoken
between those hollow walls, ourselves, the beloved, and you