A blast abruptly roars from faces and things
and everything on which my eyes stumble upon.

As I devour your scent, my lips murmur your name.
A name, like a mountain that stands spotlessly tall.

A surge of colors as I drink, flare up and flow,
each bleeding into another, like a drug in an inviting glow.

Does one need any other, I ask?
When they’ve consumed
the loftiest intoxication named ‘Shambho’?

-LA