In torture gardens, the bodies hang from trees. They swing, and they sway. Singing her name, the sky swallows a handful of flowers. Lipless and sucking, it showers them with saliva. Oranges, daffodils, rolling down the hill to the cusp of her dress. Beneath it, the oceans swell. They circle stars born from her womb. Galactic and interstella, shooting through her sex like bullets from a gun. His gun, thrusting like a ghost smashing fists against posts. Always merging, always dying. Castles in green fields. The maze of youth, of adventure. Her young body, awakening and yearning for the touch of someone who knows. The hands of a man, whose eyes burn black like holes in the sky. Within them, secrets are revealed, and myths obliterated. Swirling, like some kind of candyman. Songs of love, rivers flowing back to the source.
Birds, circling her as she dances. A field of corn, spreading to the aching horizon. She comes, veins throbbing and blood bubbling. The sensation, of a thousand muscles, tingling with madness. Delightful, breathless, and quick. A collection of eyes, symmetrical and heavenly. All those stages of transformation, wholesome and plump. Like nature, so tasty and chewy. Voids and beads, glistening like the fluid on her breasts. The truth of what he is, offered as a gift. A sacrifice, of a million tiny souls, all of them just for her. Fingers picking, teeth tingling.
Of kings and queens, ringing like bells in her ears. Falling like flowers in a gust of wind. A plane that disappears, like body parts in the dark. Shifting into some other place. Totem poles and monoliths, shaking from convulsions. Pyramids, and vanilla pods, loveless as a swarm of bees fall upon flowers so gracefully. In gardens where dreams are born on sticks, the naked lovers have nowhere to hide. They are marked by thorns. Crowns of glory, on crosses turned downwards to mourn the passing of time. Of angels and demons, merging like traffic on the freeway. Rocking back and forth, like skeletons of the aged past. Beneath bridges and moons, stairwells to basements where televators are grown without end.
Curled up animals, pierced by nails and branches. Leaves of sand, hushing as she moves on tiptoe. Mirrored, black’d, and dazed. In ripples of water, lapping the shore as the dinosaurs rise once more. All the sunken ships, all the lost souls. Rising like hope and faith, seeing the light of day after a stasis so long. Fractured, pretty like snowflakes. Infinite and obscure. Removing her clothes, she walks before the falling sky, and asks only for forgiveness. Tears upon her cheeks, she shows her bones and begs only to treated how she treats others. On a pier, some winter day when the waves crash without mercy. On a New York street, where a killer finds his victim. Snow and cigarettes. Fog and blood.
All these days, lost and forever.
All her love, warm upon the bedsheets as she gazes so longingly at the cold, morning sun. It’s coming she knows. For the breeze blows the words to her in a silence that can only mean love. A silence so massive. Pure like deadlights, flashing like a lighthouse. A beacon of salvation, in a garden of dreams and dangled desires.