The windows of her soul

The windows of her soul pull apart the soft soil
Of my heart: slowly allowing me to enter truth.
For through her open oval, that knot now rises;
Burning me up and baring down to the hard quick.
For, within the Ova, sacred Horus is revealed:-
As plump breast milk, in a panoramic- stellar stream;
That is slowly drunk by nymphs and soft cherubs,
Who sing, in hushed melodies, of their beautiful Queen!
Here again, is where Ouroboros meets.
Where imagined muscles stiffen,
In imagined soft warm mouths;
So that the cycle is complete.
But here also is where the harridan’s hard glare of state;
That can quickly turn men, into rocks,
Which shudder, then quiver; finally forcing them to brake!
For no man is above her delicate –furious- beauty.
These celestial prisms just stand above it all!
For in them she stands sacred…yet not demure.
Enticing… but sadly isolated.
Free from guilt…and full of wise, wild desire;
Containing boundless energy for the brave and the bold.

She is so beautiful…so intoxicating to behold.

© adh 2015