Alas, So mortal is thine sublime kiss,
So lethal, so heinous, so divine.
O’ mystic miss;
O’ wanton wine.
Cease not to sway
Till be naught of today, Till be naught of tomorrow.
Sway off all unbelief, Sway off all the sorrow,
Sway deep within
each virtue or vice.
Thine temperate Life be thrown — a dice.
Sway deep within
each right or wrong.
Sing out, of hymns, a raving song.
Sway deep within
each specious sin,
out of thine guilty grace,
out of thine own embrace,
Into a fluttering aura
a madness so appalling;
Within the whispers of your prances, I hear — I hear a calling.
Thine own self, thou can face, With an abject overflow,
With a swaying momentum,
With a ravishing surrender,
Enticing yet tender, An eternal afterglow;
Floating upon the Ripples of a flawed perfection
— an alluring affection,
an ascetic ascension,
an everlasting strive,
To all what a goddess can ever yearn to be.
Be it, Aphrodite or Athena.
Out of thine fleeting Life,
Thou — unendingly — at wholeness be,
O, dearest darling Nina…


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