Esprit follet, you are the beaute du diable become ideal, become flesh,
Writhing in choreographed dance,
You blur my vision in your peripheral escape,
Remaining covetous in your personal physics,
Distorted in perfection as I yearn in incompleteness,
The palette of love is sung in broken verse,
And fluent in its lingua franca I become speechless,
My testimony faltering in the strange design of emotion and reason.
Between faith or folly where love is imprisoned our relative bodies must collide.
The bleak prospect derived by orbiting desires,
Yet our destinies have no bearing to steer save whichever, hope or lust,
The enlightenment in your eyes wooing me to curiosity and certain death,
Offering me riddles, ciphers, parables, proverbs.
Efflorescent lips embrace and exhale in entropy and expansion,
The soul’s gambit intertwined with the enigma’s ecstasy and despair.