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We’re ten feet over the forest canopy, zooming in and out of the soaring boughs.
Straight over the heath, wood, and barrow.
I follow your tail feathers like a hawk. You land on the green lawn below.
Your gossamer body reflecting noonday rays like Archimedes mirror.
I’m jolted by your beauty. I can hardly breathe, my landing is chaotic.
I search the exquisite scene. It’s you in the sun.
All of my senses are overloaded.
All of my upbringing is to love you.
I find you on the heath, purple blossoms, passion flowers.
Secret grassy swales for lovers to hide.
You hold a torch, your dress gliding behind you, a rippling flag of American Beauty.
We see a cavernous opening carved by the creator.
The crevasse turns to a twisting stone hallway.
The hall opens into a private gallery.
Pools of crystal water.
A hot spring churns in the center.
Rising steam glistening off granite walls.
We remove our robes and enter the water.
Your skin glows pearls and jade.
Your flaxen hair falling down to the small of your back.
A crimson lustre on your cheek.
Your lips like tender rose buds dipped in sea salt.
It’s a glorious day to be alive.
Hot Spring Report. Intergalactic Finance Minister
Hot Spring Report. Intergalactic Finance Minister