You have your being
in a house
of flesh and blood
that looms
like a dream
in the dark
landscapes
of my mind
where the Coyote calls
and reckless phantom riders
thunder through the night
perusing unicorns
whitman dreams
and mescaline visions

A house like no other
where nymphets frolick
in your enchanted gardens
and troubadours sing
of chivalry
and the coming of spring
with all your latticed windows
and passionate doors
that lead to chambers
cast in ethereal light
on wine soaked nights
with stolen kisses
under heavenly stairways
that lead to the stars...

But in the morning light
your house crumbles
to the ground
and chokes my mouth
with a dust
as fine
as chalk

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