Perhaps I should light a match
And count the number of seconds it lasts.
The ephemerality of most things.
The kiss that blazes and dies
In a flash. The ending of a movie
That opens the waterworks. The
Canvas that your eyes glean
Beauty from.
And there is no picture-perfect
Science to appreciation. You open
The eyes on the out and the in,
To heighten feeling to a vantage point
From where you sponge what caresses
The inner-sanctuary.
A climate that has no weather forecast
Or some fancy prelude
The storm of beauty – the fine art of esotericism
That ravages the human heart
Of malignancies that endure
Beyond a match-stick moment.
In that brief impermanent interlude
You embrace the source
Of the kinetics of beauty
Catalyzing substrate
To aesthesis.
