©2000 by Bastet
Oh... night angle come to my window of aesthetic
beauty, unfold your wingspan over this small black
thing tangled in curtains.
Her spirit hoverd over my entire room with her
gigantic shadow. A knife enclosed my own flesh. Cannot
satisfy the frenzy, where she lay, the crying
More amazing then the play of light then in our eyes
of purest silver, she undresses. The blush of her
flesh is slightly bruised like mine in places
where demons bit me.
The strange sensual rhythm of the water ripping in the
breeze, dizzy with sorrow she appears in the maze,
gathering her magical briskness within, leaving oil
like paintings bursting, splashing like soft perfume
of her pale skin that I never kissed nor touched.
Guessing of old thoughts of the past that she once
thought.There were lovers crying against wet sand and
those ships tossed under water. To touch her is daring
me to feel the heat of both worlds.
Fire songs with gifted sighs of crying that I have
felt. Pretending everything was better, but shall I
ever look into her blue eyes again. The sullen sky
sheds a torrent of wrath. Pictures taken and many I
have, but neither a hug or peck I will ever receive.
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