In billowed tufts of winding glow,
sweet pistil stems are wrapped in gold.
Embattled breath I cannot hold,
bellowing out, what you must know!

The fragrant wind from column sweet,
the nape to smell is what I long;
entreat my heart’s embattled song,
to wildly skip its level beat.

A beckoned glance through pearls of teal,
evanescing a chaliced flame,
and lapping out upon the frame,
to melt away these nerves of steel.