I want to read every book ever written about love, lust, and lavishness;
I want to feed from the lives of the beautiful
and thrilling and feathers and pearls.
I wish i lived where every word uttered
was a world unto itself
and no one had to apologize for anything
except a blessed, wretched abandon,
trumpets and horns and voices straining to a heaven
like pomogranate juice bleeding on your tongue.