In The Majestic Stillness Of The Night, Nothing Could Be More



I’m going to build a sky,

pink and purple and flayed

with the wretched stains of existence.



For this dawn burns my eyes

with the temporal nature of living.




These hands of carbon reach out for freedom

but reality’s chains have skinned our innocence,

covering us in a harsh bark that scrapes the ground

as we lumber onward.



Freedom is not ours,

for we are Children Of The Stars;

hear how our growing chorus pierces the Milky Way’s core,

filling its supermassive black hole with the terrifying wail

of a galactic junkyard full of rusting human hearts.




There are innumerable galactic viewpoints I could have witnessed,

yet it was the journey into your heart

that filled my pockets with seeds of hope.



(Here. I am your beacon.

Follow my serpentine trail of renewal

as you navigate this tender slipstream of life.)




Let our crimson hearts dance

like flickering flames of yearning.



We shall resuscitate our brutalized minds

with the drip-drop-drip of melting ice

as our cool existence suddenly rebounds

like winter turned into spring.



So taste this kiss of hunger,

witness the wondrous touch

of these worshipping fingertips upon your body,

for your words swirl around me like fawning moons,

luminescent baubles afloat on a distant, distant sea.



And now there is no pretense,

and all that exists in the universe

is the fierce momentum of our bodies, intertwined.


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