The secret puzzle hidden in your name,
Is the most fragrant blossom I suppose,
The moon’s flow is apt for this grand bouquet,
Of magnificent works of hopeless prose.
Composed for the likes of your Higher Self,
Though prose could never offer true acclaim,
Repeating patterns of the number twelve,
Raises awareness, strange pains, and heartache.
Deriving from the heart space are visions,
Past the dense Earth’s air, they have not changed much,
Said events push forth by the Universe.
In His crazy Light, I gladly immerse.
((by Amina Caprice Andolini 👽))