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Take me to the edge of euphoria,
to the boundless immortality of words.
Lay me down on silver paper and let me be the ink,
the fibers in the whispers of a canvasing quill.
Take me to the edge where the muses dance.

Let the breeze be my lover, let me feel metaphors,
sultry anaphora cast the ebony curls on the bed.
Let your heart open to innuendos, let me be the voice,
the tears of the shadows, the melody on your lips,
and let us travel to the edge where the stars brood.

Raise every figure of sensuality,
like a phoenix, rise above dead roses and snow.
Set on fire the logic and the vocabulary, and please,
take me to the edge where the limits of the letters
and the artistry of poetry can go no further.

Image by Dead Poet

©2013, B. T., All rights reserved