lower case intended

conjuring from the womb of the sun, we were there

in galloping mirth, fondling with time like bubbles dissipating.

we were bleeding, our blood akin to the stars,

floating in a pool of honey, underneath a spiral tyndall,

in the laps of a tuned meadow and renaissance skies

dwelling like the gremlins on saturn's rings

we were there, dissolving in a midsummer daydream.