it hovers under there, in a blanket of mist

Your genome misting smeared on a thickened goblet must of red
is near to mean that revelations are yet possible but partly sealed,

mostly apart from the little drib of saliva glisten left again revealed
when, certainly, all you wanted was that perfect quench of dread

to pitch away into the heavenly green of candle flames gem tossed
under a waving horizon of jagged black teeth lost on broke slopes,

searching for a purple chord that can reign in harmonious tropes
so not yet again a formal sonata with fiery canon is barkly mossed

with velvet greenery grown upon the antler budding sophomores,
who, from the gaunt wolf that howls up from the needles a granite

slab where worship is expected, groan silver dew to black night
in the foggy mystery that wisps and purrs in pineapple spheres.