Under The Wind

Delicate fingers chaining these urges, while shaping the wax together, now shapeless. Enormous storm shadows sweat their torrid waters, casting out loose ideas. Would the water flood my dreams? Leaves, soaring away like whispers. Sacred ancient language through rain. Will this simple winter symphony manipulate my only time left? The only time I have left for you. Those elaborate lies incubate searing essential music. Left delirious. Our mean and ugly lives consume our power produced through sleep.

Your lust fiddles with love. Felt. The knife is still weak, still here in bed. Bare, two thousand summers gone. Caught in a still frame memory, but gone forever. Above it all, yet caught unaware under the wind. We chant beneath the mist, over the sky. Never stop beating an easily crushed void. Boil true skin smooth, and it will sing my love. ACHE- MOAN- RUST- ALWAYS, and you can can worship this raw frantic eternity, my gorgeous death vision.

Black diamonds shine white as someone screams, but not like me. Never my way. It may drive you mad, but swim from me and you will need, your own place in the sun. Think of light smeared. Spraying, ripping, that bitter blood out. Did you ascend? Picture my goddess, her musty juice. Only smelled of honey. Unlike her mothers ill scent.

In this repulsive sea of beauty, we cant recall those shaky moments. No man has. No man has asked. No man has asked why. So, why? Why cant you show them, show them all.