We sanctify all spaces with our love —
transform them into lifeful-scented scenes.
A scraggy-feathered bird becomes a dove
and leafless trees are changed to evergreens.
Our lantern lips meet in a darkened room
and suddenly Aurora’s sunlight shines.
Embracing hotly by a rubbish heap
makes refuse-laden stigmas redefined.
I swear that if we in a battlezone
should conjugate ourselves in passion’s blaze
all guns would melt and drown the combat drone
while bullets danced in ceaseless ricochets.
Each time we kiss or other gesture make
A place becomes a palace in our wake.
© 2011, Alan Morrison