Shining glass coloured pendula.

She cautiously stepped over &
Around the soggying and stoned
servitude
Of saturday’s beat into the yellow
Room – in the yellow room, rays
Of rubyish red arc from the floor
To the other surfaces from the
Middling smudge of the green lamp
On the bed.
How in the world? she could cultivate
Another sludg’d grain
Of a grudge in such a catacomb of
Honey as this was beyond them –
They were too busy gnashing their
Terrible teeth from bare angelic
Balconies of woven wheat and
Conducting all the feet-up
Chitterings and wine spills of
Febrile pontificated myth-sowing
That the evenings always seemed
To bring. Broken metal wires
(and bent) meant that oscillation
Was somewhat delayed but
Eventually and fortuitously the
Necessary metal horse-hairs were
Procured and when the last
Caribbean coffee bean was squeezed
Of its richness a solid graph of
Pure work and satisfaction was
Painted back across the hanging
Turquine shimmer and the breath
Held shy in the chest for a sec
And then eyes met eyes and eyes
Met eyes and eyes met eyes until
All eyes were met and a web of
Fish catching and unison regard
Of all this that was happening and
Of their own operating within
Seated and giggling Indra }{}{}{#*

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