Phoenix of Love

Funny how the shrouded plumes of artistry
so gently threading through the throbbing soul
turn and twist to shift their shades 
from rainbow-tinted ecstasy to a blackened hearth
of coal heaped so as to consume the fire itself,
robbing the predestined astral fusion
from two celestial desperadoes
stealing through the heavens obscurely;
hoping somehow for hope itself to be revealed
within the entrapment of the bosom,
wherein tearful reminiscences painted so vividly
downstream in the river Time
evoke emotions evocatively enough
to wish as well the river be that dreaded Styx;
to wish, such as it were and may be again,
for a crash of waves against the rocks underfoot
to spray a mist soaking into every pore of the soul,
imbuing it with phantasmagorical euphoria
of a lover's dream for the dreamer's love:
one day, perhaps, to cast at last the bindings
from the feet, that a walk may once more commence
through lush meadows to where Love pours out
endlessly from its bottomless elixir;
from the hands! that they may hold it unrestrained
and cup it in full, raising to the mouth to drink
Eternity eternally and be no longer deluded;
from the lips! that they may receive it
abundantly and unadulterated in essence
to instantiate that desired vestal tingling;
from the heart! that it may beat beatifically
and sink suddenly into a deep serenity,
delicately impressionable within its raptures;
from the soul! – ah, the soul! – that it may soar
into ethereal fits throughout the heavens
and venture to remove all stakes
from the canopy of the universe,
unleashing perennial harmonies
and deeply saturated hues of visually enigmatic oddities,
garnering the unexpected answers
to all troubling riddles seeping so slowly
into the crevices of its deepest corners,
thus broadening the few interstices that remain
merely in the hopes of being discovered
and torn wide open, exposing its nakedness;
to softly lay and gently love in sincerity,
guileless to the marrow of the bones,
the desperadoes gravitating closer and closer
with hearts in orbit and nearing conflagrance,
awaiting their long-anticipated conflation
that shall render them motionless
in the fortitude of abounding love;
two hearts dwelling within one soul
that soars through the mystical midnight blue
in an effort to pluck from Heaven’s table
the ambrosial atmosphere of tranquil resolve
with nectarean adoration for each other’s affection,
beating in rhythm with rhyme and reason
to the pulse of each half’s better half;
procuring within the other a nobler poise           
by patience and humbleness and love,
so as to draw living water from the well
with gentle hands in which the rope won’t slip,
for good comes not from mysterious acts
but is made manifest by the act of grace,
thus cleansing the blackened hearth
and reigniting the smoldering ash –
thereby giving birth to a newer flame—a truer flame—
from which the Phoenix of Love doth spring.