Fortune Of The Teller

If I poured
the fragile thoughts
from my wrists,
crimson binary in bliss,
would you
let me penetrate
your sanity?

You are sanity,

And I watched you dissolve,
cocooned in your innocence!
The legacy of your demise,
cataclysm, catalyst,
the moth
came out to play
in December fields
and aching fray…

You married the queen of my soul
and bled her heart into the dust,
calling the whim of transcended
fractures: fissure under skin.
I kissed your skin,
tasted the scent of your ecstasy,
took your crying dreams,

and dropped them

to fevered culmination.

Falling for futures
fragile with lust,
the promise of death
was always there,
lying in vermilion and
nickel reformed,
we harden the walls
where patience kissed
and stole desire.
And i erected devastation
to you.
Watching the world from the skies
of embered embrace.

How we burned with nothing,
Sepia intercourse, barren and bare,
I DEVOURED your thighs,
Filling your womb with prophet and fortune-teller.

Stripped back to the bone
naked, pulsating, promise.

Will you read this at all?
Know that I crave the sin more than the false
life that never sees the journey.
Walls bow, stumbling again,
maybe it was never the heart that I consumed,
but jeered,
waiting for a taste
between your thighs
for that first kiss of
Your Sanity.
You are sanity,
The Only Lucidity.

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