The Basis of the Universe

Somewhere beneath your unfathomable agenda lazy flowers throw water across the yawn of aquamarine, as men sing and drink toasts to the dubious assets of dreams; words at cross-swords with their deeds. Women toss their mixed salad invitingly into the stream of consciousness, thrust forth from heaving breasts but left to die upon the glow of ever after. You entice with sound the fall of drip dropping almonds rat-a-tat-tatting along the broken gutter more tuneful than any music the sound of love-drunk words more lyrical than the mellow strings of my angelic harp