Dancing peonies
are disassembled by the wind,
the sleepy exhalation of a lotus mouth.
Before her horse wild eyes they fall-
the ever shifting,
petal dropping,
shadow dancing,
dew dripping flowers
are the substance of her dreams.
The oily night tries its best to swallow
her angel food intentions,
tries its best to mingle
in the same realm as the sweet kisses
of her thoughts- synaptic party sparklers,
lovemaking of neurons,
co-mingling of ecstatic chemicals
that shimmer brighter and purerthan the stars,
those diamond baubles that the sky borrows
for its nightly parties.