Hope springs eternal from the womb of my subconscious

And every mock thought and transaction of fear

Is lost amid the diffuse tones and molten serotonin cherry haze of your presence

So when do you receive your wings my muse?

Elixir of God that you are

Liquid burst of light and euphoria

Spectre of mind’s eye and of dreams of timeless bliss

Substance of flesh and blood and trail of heaven’s scent

This delight in you is a power to creation

© Chris Bond — 23 September 2003