Pleasure is the welcome mat
at the door of sensibilities
where speechless sounds,
sightless visions,
subtlety quenches,
and the privacy self opens
beyond permission,
pronouncement
or the predicament of purpose.
Pleasure has no context
but our coming into pleasure
allows us that surrender
of retentive perspective
and maybe even to sacrifice
the imprint of circumstance
only to regain it again
upon pleasure’s passing
in remnants of remembrance
as we leave the sky of immersion
to return to
the familiar lighthouse of stance
where new moon nights
of solemnity
bath and bask us
in the faint fragrances
as the wardrobes
of wishful witnesses
wanton for
what we call pleasure
yet still willful
then resigned . . .
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