A lamp of wisdom lit by rivers of purpose,
by streams of love that spring
from unseen hills surrounding hearts like bosoms.
Sweet upwind of freedom is near
and dances field grass of wakefulness.
It kisses grace like the lips of a lover
tracing the shape of an inner thigh.
What else can be more than this?
Where is the heaven above my ancestors speak of
when I clearly see it flowering before me.
This quenching now of delightful breath,
can there be more than this?
If there is then staying can only know.