The image of Persia . . .
Like a dark stream of hair it curls
Undoes itself, then curls again
Ribboning over and around
Pillows and polished memories
Dream’s empire unfurls
Colors purple and gold snapping
In the liquid breeze,
A woven stream bridging
The straits of logic in my sleep
And then you descend
Upon my Greece your soft lips
Parted your eyes opening mine
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