The Mistress of the House of Books

Spin spin! Oh silken succubus!
Spin a steady stream of
Sensuality and subtle lies,
As flightless down with Peacock eyes,
To penetrate that hieroglyphic sphere of stone
Thrown holographically around our throne.
Those silent strands,
Time-binding cursic hands that flutter 'cross our countless shells,
Flow floating down around you now
To meet with lofted eyes,
The deep green hunger set inside all wordless Stygian souls,
Sat listless on her shores still waiting for the boat.

The unseen Mistress hands held out,
Notched palm upturned and scribe devout,
Her siren song is sounded out as sweet symbolic strokes,
Flings forth fragmented petals of the crystal Rose that glow!
Oh! Such luminescence so!
From a solar orb-like golden crown
She sends sacred silver slivers sliding down
To glide across your body left to right,
And carve a crimson line!
Then coalesce the Red and Blue to glimmering sheer,
Alight around your feet to grow
A crop of sharpened swords
Edged green with Nature's gleam,
From Planet's core and deepest darkest mine,
And weave a thorny crown of sweet infinity
To plant between the brow,
A Quantum Cone of Pine.

In silence
This Waterfall of Word through waves of Love
Sends south a shining stripping of the soul
Like razor blades in gentle folds sewn
Soft in their divide, 
Spiral out in white inclines
As sacramental snow to bind
The waters of the Eye,
Reflecting bright and wide the glimmer in the mail-like
Skin of those spawn-born denizens within.
Precious prisoners in wriggling sleep lie dormant down within the drink!
Oh holy ones and Lettered those
As Ancient wrinkles in our tapestry of time once
Woven by the macrocosmic crone as scawls of endless ink.

No necromantic rod and line need stir such slumber,
Their cries of fateless future form are slung as vested veil,
Hung from the Tree as mast and marker,
Hoistened high as sail and sunk sublime as stars.
Voyage the void! Sweet telemetries! 
And so we cross that most Grandiose Line between Oneiric seas!