Here is my right of way.
I could surely hold sway
swept-back
for the white magic
of your skin’s shadow play.
Any flashback
would make your opal flay.

Don’t go amiss.
All the fledged senses
are prone to incandesce
away from the huntsmen
of my frontispiece.

My reins
remains
in the chase
for your magnetic strains
that resonate
and sheathe me in grace

Rove me sidelong
through the hypnoses
rove me aspen like a strength
overlap me at length

*

Here in the splice
the alchemist’s gone syncopal.
The woman’s wraith
shed her non-self
not to shine on so bifocal.