We are dreamlike, entranced yet sleepless
while the gods slumber, metamorphosing
within our luminous cocoons, quiescent
though not unmoved. Now discontent
as net-veiled chrysalides of cyberspace,
stirred by the warm awakening of desire,
we await the furtive kiss of alchemy
to render the timeless mystery entire.
Once unfurling, faltering, fledgeless nymphs,
now digital-dancers, imago-gypsies,
flirting in the play of light and shadow,
tapping worded wings upon the electron screen.
Suppose out of instinct or innocence we seek
soulmates in these galleries of hieroglyph and glass,
where the exquisite longings and sufferings of love
are laid bare in transfigured exhibition of our hearts,
we who crave the secrets of serendipitous beauty,
as elusive as the avatars of our dreams.
