Only in the prison of perfection,
Needing neither love nor company,
Your body quite dissolved in pure perception,
One oversoul as far as mind can see;
Unattached to meaning or desire,
Redolent of heaven’s thin, cold air,
Empty of an all-devouring fire
Nor interested in being more than there;
Granted such a state, what need for marriage?
All there is, is with you all the while.
Gifts of love redound to those who forage
Earnestly, with neither greed nor guile.
May you hunger and find surfeit sweet,
Each separately an angel incomplete,
Needing one another’s love to know
The greatest bliss vouchsafed to those below.

About the Author:
Nicholas Gordon


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