ί, and the letting of your burning lips
Posted: Tue May 12, 2015 4:11 pm
ί,
and with that thought, my mind fogs,
wraps tendrils of ghostly grey and sifting,
simpering arms about my nescient form, delivering
me up, packaged and securely fastened,
to the undersided nether regions of my existence.
for who am ί to think of individuality,
of splitting the bond, of covalence, formed,
at the outset of our mutually-mad love affair?
the fog, then, seeps and slaughters thoughts
of a cosmic "ί", of an earthy predominance
where one of hallowness shares, and one of
hollowness knows naught of peace.
we, then, shall be invoked, while nuclear
snowflakes scratch and burn the flesh of
that single-muttered "ί".
my soul, twisting, burns ever so deep,
and we, not "ί", reap the glories of such a firing
by kiln-created heat, by forgings and purifications.
that "ί", a poisoned impurity, removed and discarded
as one would dispose of detritus, of such decomposed offal
in back alleys, in shadowed valleys in the wake of wolves
feasting on the aftermath of battle-strewn corpses.
{ - of my soul, my very being
buried, burned,
tormented, and tittering
at the peak of
magnifying madness,
mine! - }.
oh, my soul jumps, it quivers most inhospitably
as dousings refuse to output the fire of us, of we,
always, of thee, my Ļoѵє.
always.
and so, burn, we,
most delectably
within arms, swelled,
as we form and meld
so beautifully into this
newness you call me to,
my Ļoѵє.
haunted, this view,
and the smoke so heavenly rises.
always.
and with that thought, my mind fogs,
wraps tendrils of ghostly grey and sifting,
simpering arms about my nescient form, delivering
me up, packaged and securely fastened,
to the undersided nether regions of my existence.
for who am ί to think of individuality,
of splitting the bond, of covalence, formed,
at the outset of our mutually-mad love affair?
the fog, then, seeps and slaughters thoughts
of a cosmic "ί", of an earthy predominance
where one of hallowness shares, and one of
hollowness knows naught of peace.
we, then, shall be invoked, while nuclear
snowflakes scratch and burn the flesh of
that single-muttered "ί".
my soul, twisting, burns ever so deep,
and we, not "ί", reap the glories of such a firing
by kiln-created heat, by forgings and purifications.
that "ί", a poisoned impurity, removed and discarded
as one would dispose of detritus, of such decomposed offal
in back alleys, in shadowed valleys in the wake of wolves
feasting on the aftermath of battle-strewn corpses.
{ - of my soul, my very being
buried, burned,
tormented, and tittering
at the peak of
magnifying madness,
mine! - }.
oh, my soul jumps, it quivers most inhospitably
as dousings refuse to output the fire of us, of we,
always, of thee, my Ļoѵє.
always.
and so, burn, we,
most delectably
within arms, swelled,
as we form and meld
so beautifully into this
newness you call me to,
my Ļoѵє.
haunted, this view,
and the smoke so heavenly rises.
always.