Why Wait For Death To

The Quivering Of Psyche's Butterflies.

I Testify To Rainbow Feathers, To The Span Of Heaven And Walls Of Colour, The Colonnades Of Jasper.

We Are Voyagers, Discoverers Of The Not-known, The Unrecorded; We Have No Map; Possibly We Will Reach Haven, Heaven.

I Spit Honey Out Of My Mouth: Nothing Is Second-best After The Sweet Of Eros.

One Flower May Slay The Winter And Meet Death.