Love gates on pleasure’s path
of deep crimson soaked in myrrh,
wide open for passion’s run,
past a fleet of words with the
scent of love and love’s garden
glued to the senses,
to the fires of Gomorrah,
the sweetness of the wicked wind,
a destiny reached by running blind,
a feel of the scorching heat,
a rethinking of the love manifest,
a passion untried and unattended,
a search for the open gate again,
a passion lifted up with reasoning,
a running along a cerebral path
with quickened paces to open fields
in cadence to the swirling wind,
the feeble air made sweet,
metal words molded into sonnets,
a poem to open up love’s course,
to illuminate the path ahead,
an open gate to love’s destiny.