Columbine, Music, Love

There are columbines scattered about

They are the music in this love hungry eye

They run gingerly in and out of the grassy pastures

But then they coalesce in the spectular sea of red

They are understated in a pastel of time

Minor chords decreasing in reverberation

And the space between columbines
Is a cosmic connection which makes for symphonic ecstasy

And this passion makes me feel

faint