She placed the world against arousing paradigms
that salaciously played with wood and feathers,
fire and flames, that grew in aching hours, prurient
and gradations folding with new dissonances. Each
lubricious memory, that danced within the chasms of life,
hold suggestive to those witnessing their yearning, rife
and pornographic to those with privileged visions.
In smutty condensation, the world splashed indecent
hours lightsomely across the stars in spring time.
We heard they were improper reflections, and knew
that only these pictures held us to such reproduce times.
But, we are not together in these realities. Only images.
In the world we will be free, it can never be so here.
The world and stars brand our memory. Free them. And,
we will still have our words, no matter where they travel.
© Phen Weston 2016