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Angels die in my arms
Infected w/ purity
Intoxicated w/ lust…
Two solemn vipers of my pupils hallucinating
lead themselves
toward the slight
imperceptible movement of eyelashes
…Slow Undared Touch…
…plead guilty to long…
If Gods may walk
In the Skies
Why would we
Wander in these dirty streets, kicking
the packs of snowflakes [half mud]
and hiding our bodies in
stuffed aluminium spaces
of rooms? To wait for the sunset?
Inappropriate wish – transcendental
Desire of pain machinery;
Warmth and silk stockings
… and your hand on my face to
tear the artificiality of smile
away… one way of madness
white’s – color of death
…no footsteps on heavy snow…
…plead innocent to know…
Rosemary scent of
Your words if only…
I inhale w/ no lungs
But mind and the sudden
wisdom of skin
faces off
naked flash
…of burnt flesh…
…plead doomed to see visions…
How’d be? Be voided? Be cornered?
Roomed? Walled in? Streeted?
Towned? Skyed? Spaced?
Milky Wayed? Universed? …and no
Strength to break through…
or just be near…?
Just… be…
…illusion of an illusion…
…plead guilty to allude…
But while angels die in my arms
Infected w/ soul
Intoxicated w/ feelings
Would you stay close?
If Gods inhabit the Skies
Why then it’s still sunshine?
Why not the rain?
…who’d mourn over the angels’ death…
…for the Gods may not laugh…
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