Let us go fearless to the bonfire.
Let us spend our dark night among the hyenas
and all that would rip and tear at our
facades until we are stripped raw of
any pretense, any subtle self
believed in need of
protecting.

Let us rise early to the vineyards,
let our ideas and images be
crushed like wine grapes.

Let us see if the vine of
our true nectar has budded,
its blossoms truly opened, or
if we still float in the ersatz
beverages of pseudo-bliss and
self-congratulation.

There we will see how well our
pledges of unconditional love
fare in the heat of Love’s
annihilation.

The mandrakes send out their fragrance,
and at our doors are delicious fruits,
both new and old,
which I have kept for you,
my beloved –

each one is certain death to
one whose appetite for truth is
greater than their need to salvage
dreams of separation.