Writings

From some time ago...

Once again it lies in wait
A strange Beast with sultry voice,
it reaches for my hands and feet
and sets its lips upon them
It claws its way into my brain and there settles
under false pretense of love
It seeps lust into my dreams,
drenched in wine and smoke;
it leaves me curious and terrible and draws the air from my lungs
The Beast it leaves me longing for parched sand and foreign eyes,
for monoliths, flashes of colored light
And I, too, lie in wait
Supine in a grassy field,
naked,
a city of clouds swirling round me

As it stands, you are only a collection of letters,
a photograph, a future memory,
an absurd imagining
Further still
And the Beast rests its sparrow feet upon my shoulder
And kisses my neck
Ghastly handsome, it sings me to sleep
And coaxes sweet notes from a violet violin -
I dread the warm hour of your approach.