Riddle me this, with larks rising and eyelids carved with symbols. In ivory tusk, she stalks the ground and spreads herself real good. The nature of my linguistics, found in the room without darkness. In the second sun of Autumn, all divided hearts are replaced with crescent moons. In the shrinking fathoms of our fathers, all totems are split without doubt. She is floating over snow, and hanging from beams of light. Her lips warm like love, a hundred ghosts yearn for her body. They dance in unison as neon clouds gravitate to her waist. In a sequence involving absence, she is replaced with darkened glass. Mirrors reflecting truth, diamonds upon her neck, she swims through seas of voices unholy. The circular notion of what lies beneath, of what holes are made of. Containing roses and dust, the hinges have been torn clean off. The doors that will take you away, are no longer tangible. Hidden tigers, begging to be sent away. Birdcages swinging from trees. Curvatures of sleepless spines. Dreamless nights, waiting for the moment when all histories burn. The gentle humming, of loveless silence. Of lethargy, tightened with anxiety as the rope snaps his neck. Her wrists are chains, of slavery and childhood hallucinations. Falling rocks and caverns of shattered skulls. The danger she swallows. Biting breaths and flashing lights as the ceiling collapses. Self pity and refraction, bending to the hands that wrap around her. Wished on prophecy, written on her flesh with ageless ink. Insects and demons, from quarries to blackholes. Bottled beer to shots. The death of hangovers. Existence unravelling on Sunday mornings. I’m losing my mind she said. Mines already gone he said. Dying beneath the sun, gasping for air with lungs on fire. Puking in the gutter. Stumbling with veins full of chemicals. The emptiness of years, of skin infections and missing fragments of bone. Clutch her necklace and bite her tongue, rub your cock against her belly and wait for the eye in her navel to open. Clicking limbs, all pornographic and unfaithful. Shimmering lies against the arches of her thighs. Red like nightmares. Tombstones of lust. Teeth white like sugar, sweet as they chew you up. Nudity, swimming and sensual. The way she dissolves her love like sand blowing in the wind. Desolate and scorched. The sacred particles of yesterday, seeping into her blood as snowflakes melt on my face. Mirrored, we replicate each other, circling our fears as the earth shifts closer to oblivion. Our fates are entwined, like vines wrapped around a tree. Or snakes around a key, the door to which is sinking in her shadow. There is no escaping this. It’s a dream upon waking. The hieroglyphics of her mind just too difficult to grasp. They remain opaque. Separated from reality. Like fantasies and eskimo kisses, dripping onto white linen. The ritual act, of two souls trapped in tired flesh. Beyond the realms of what we know, there is another place waiting for us. Without darkness, the room that spins in the back of our throats. Words spilling out, I lick her wounds and pluck the feathers that will help us fly to someplace else. Someplace where we can live as one, where the secrets of her tomb will reveal themselves at last.