Selena, Daughter of Man, Reflects
Before the Corn moon wanes, the Strawberry moon will wax; may it be the open wound by which you believe in me.
Enter my cobalt sea of love. Swim in its sky. Fly down into its depths. Climb up my Jacobean cerebral spinal fluid ventricle. Strum the music an agnus-piscean in the lap of a woman can hear.
This is all I ask for, ever. So ask me no more what I want from you. For if not from you then for you the music will be made; if not through me then before me in Jacobello or the locust garden of Vallarán.
I shall always dance. I wish for you spring: that you may turn cloudwhite. Water our garden. Be ready by fall to sit at the table and consume all that we grew.
The insomniac lunatic whispers: it is being done the only way it can be done. The dreamer knows it in the interval. The lover hangs in its pause. Now to love it back its yellow-golden fire chord and be aligned arightly, at last. The mooon shines for no other purpose.
Mucho hermosa!
The picture, the words, the sentiment.
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