Love is not a serving of affection
It is the flood, the savage whitewater
That swamps you, and takes you for a ride
Like Noah’s ark in floodwater

And she will take you to places
You never imagined existed. Like a little
Cathedral with a nave and shrine
A holy place for a pilgrim. Where you make
Offerings of scented candles.

And one shrine is all it takes
To take the gypsy off the pilgrim
A little love is the holiest alter known to man
And as tabernacles are erected
Oracles and priestesses communicate
The mortal to the divine

And that pidgin of sounds and words
Is a little proclamation, a hosanna
That son of man is all flesh
And god is one immeasurable feeling
A self-evident blinding truth
Expanding beyond the holiest corps

And we call that burst of sentience


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