Edgar Allan Poe: Master of the macabre… and romance?
My love, sponge brain of things psychedelic,
Lays lacksidaisicle with grunt mush ‘shrooms.
I pop goji like pennies angelic,
And watch as the root tombs and fruit boom blooms.
Paired, we emit glows of hazed honey gold,
Of Sundays after bacon after Cross,
After breaking loose through the starch stiff hold
Of the iron shut shirt that we down toss.
We feed each other laughs like grapes off vines,
Ourselves mirrored in the others brown eyes,
Meditate in silence to read our minds,
And allow our animal to arise.
Then, the sun runs from pink to sink downhill.
And Monday brings work and we tend the mill.