The Daily Poem

MY LAST SWEET RITES

The world's been nicely diced in word-sized bites.

We ladle them with pen-like vocal spoons.

Each cube contains its image-ready sights.

This soup is just the swallowed ink that writes

Our minds in metaphoric cubed cocoons;

The world's been nicely diced in word-sized bites.

We dialogue in crooning moth-like flights

Above our heads in lyric thought balloons;

Each cube contains its image-ready sights.

Our hungry ear with tongue-like want invites

The spoken song's articulating runes;

The world's been nicely diced in word-sized bites.

Our repertoire of pure imagined heights

Brings earthward all the mist-fed visioning moons;

Each cube contains its image-ready sights.

Accept this wing-like food my heart recites,

To feed this love of ours my soul consumes.

   To you, my love, I serve my last sweet rites—

   My fractaled heart's recursive tuned perfumes.

My world's been nicely diced in word-sized bites,

Each cube contains my image-ready sights.

for my wife, Mimi

~ D. Edgar Lamp (Villanelle)