By an intelligent conversation.
By an awkward glance with curled lip edges.
By the smile behind your eyes.
Which betrays your somewhat cool demeanor;
Cool, not cold, not nearly frigid.
Or at least I hope my senses are correct.
I feel invited to swim in this new quandary of ideas
Un mixed, un poured, un cemented
before the art of temperance comes into play
and feelings are added to thoughts
And wind is blown into empty sails
Which play the harp of heartstrings
I find myself smiling at my thoughts of thoughts
While having a strange indifference
for making feelings blossom
For once I will sit back
Upon this throne of my own making
And let it all unfold
Like the coils of a snake
Coming to rest
languorously after aeons