enflamed with pearl
dulled by fading blue
the pine wood smell of corpse upon my loins
and pentagonal phases of the common grave

embodied by the worthless solar end
cinnamon sparkled goddess,
I flow like the pulse of your heart,
cracked with passion

I fold in for inexistant first moments
of metallic pain that fades away the true threads of reality

of worshipping miniature deities
of resurrecting tortured souls...

my veins become full and collapse the mind
like the overbearing lust
where my lungs become the darkest of black holes
drowning my companion moon in eclipse
and particles scatter as I wave my hand at them

the sky is your face
your body the Earth
through the ages of man, awaiting the sun

09/27/2005

Author's Note: I carry similar thoughts from piece to piece. I habitually use the moon, the sky, the stars, etc... as symbols of the human body (generally a woman's body). "...awaiting the sun" is from my lullaby of the same name.

Posted on 09/28/2005
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