A rose in the high garden of your desire. A wheel in the pure syntax of steel. The mountain stripped of Impressionist mist. The greys keeping watch over their final balustrades...

Salvador Dali

Norm of breast and hip

under the stretching bough;

old and newly born,

virtue of the spring.

My naked body yearns to be

the dahlia of your destiny,

bee,

murmur of wine

of your number and madness.

But my love goes on seeking

pure madness of breeze and trill.

MADNESS...

Salvador Dali