Yestereve I dreamt
Of surreal meanderings
Balancing atop the dangling
Daunt objective of former oppress
Peering abyss into
The caves hath led such height
That can no more retrace the steps
Just an instinctual primacy
Opening so much so brighter
The deeper we venture tact
The forest of the mind
Hath no more light than black
The irony
Things are not what they are
This instance
Midsummer twilight wiles
On the dwarf forest
Escher’s relativity
Spirals stretched in line
Endlessly rotating
Material deviation
From the oriental center
The bed of weaving
Be not afeard
If world doth teeter on its axis
Its (axiom/orientation)
’Tis merely shifting its postured weight
Imaginary as is perceptual
Residual escape
Is sheen
Our shadows fell upon the drift of time
Side by side stretching the horizon lean
We laughed
(Water-falls) beneath our kisses
Like tears we’ve chosen not to weep
And rather leaning o’er
Grip so dear abysses
Howsoever daunting to our dangling feet
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