Always Returning



Bodies as feathers as orbs as pin pricks to let in the light through the darkened sky above. Hushed and plucked and slithering under those sheets that effortlessly fall to the floor while you lower your mouth and await my kiss, these fingers tingle and pulsate like those stars in deep space that know the secret name of God. Blinking twice to say yes while my hands rub your belly until it stings you like a bee, the world we know falls and sinks and shifts but the terror only adds to our euphoric delirium. So much honey. So many bites as the light bulb dims and swings above our giddy heads. Leviathan. Transformation. Words as symbols and symbols as markers of faith to be planted in the desert of the real. Those without the thirst for what’s beyond the veil are as meaningless as they are loveless, which is why we have no need for them at all. Satellites. Chrysalis. Again and again as you hang low to the ground before flowering up the walls and across the ceiling. We chew and spit out the seconds and minutes as if they were innocent hearts belonging to the frigid and hopeless, and although it’s cruel it needs to be done. The hours and days we ignore because time doesn’t feature in our fantasies as it’s too tawdry by far. Still breathless. Still beautiful. Still swooping through the air like a magpie in search of shiny coins to call his own. Not what you think. Not what you want. Dancing. Pulsating. Chewing and clawing as you wash your feet while smoking your cigarette and touching yourself because that’s what I like. Like melting wax, you move your skin and hypnotise as if you were some kind magician in the midnight hour. Like the waves that lap the shore, you come and go like a ghost as I stand there not knowing where I am. This happens in slow motion. It occurs because we decided to leave behind what we were told was the only way. Unravelling. Unfathomable. They will never forgive us for being what we are, but what we are is of no concern to anyone but us. Bodies as jewels. As windows and doors for each soul to call their own on their way to those glorious, pulsating stars.

A Journal for Damned Lovers on

A Journal for Damned Lovers on

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