The Feast

For the eyes, feast is with the festoons,
For beating heart, love is with the ruling roost,
There is hesitation and then a break-dance,
Mayonaise on the chicken lollipop drips,
and deepens the tongue to flicker
for the Birthday boy,
while fascinating June and August fly,
to the next stage of mime,
Shadows moving through love tunnel,
love nonetheless is a garb of the soul,
soul searches first memory then imagination,
and then the universe,
To find the feast for the eyes,
like those little balloons inflating the love within,
love beats like a butterfly in the afternoon,
finding the essence to mix the lilies and poppies,
only to find the feast as a spread for the eyes,
and the days pass by like unknowing,
cat hunts for the rat,
while the eye met and forgot,
the feast, a dying raconteur,
tells the tale of the moon,
lost southwards and in the garden,
with a click found on your collar


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