Aroused as animals,
you on my body,
and I keep my hand on your skin.
As I keep my hand to a cold night fire,
To your hair flowing and glowing,
on your back like amarbel on a tree.
With a thin layer parasite covering,
I want to be in love forever.
We glance Graces with one corpse with another, for our marble monument present, with the Vail
vase of imperfections aura present.
What is the tomb of the poet recollecting,
The memory of worms,
that crossed their skin for ages,
What is pain,
when I am under a death sentence.
“What a sunset,” where the perfume of blood,
like the sun rejuvenating: is like the sea on the naked.
Toxic memory flies as a lighthouse torches;
What a spectacle of corpses.
Where our lives are remorseless,
thirst for saliva is madness.
WILDsound Writing Festival 