In the Furore of Her Silent Grace I Have Worn My Tread
Jason Wilkinson

That I have fallen to the hymn of a polished Idyll
whose very sheen doth portend
fairytale, cageless heavens
purled out before me
in a queue of tantric postures
calcified cherubim among her
pyretic locks

That I have succumbed to such uncalculated symmetry
a figure drawn into soft cliffs
towering in the burnished heather without and
beyond her love is like a guarded copse
I long to drift amid the perfumed eaves
where lambent feathered herons make
dimples in the sky.

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