It was this day, centuries ago,
milky ways and golden honey showers
flowing down those sandstone castles,
orange alleys smelling pregnant -
the street a womb of fruity towers,
no, never has there been a gate,
not necessary with the inside seen on petaled crowns,
the care of nurture on their unique bark.
It was this day, centuries ago,
you were queen and I was king,
one of France and one of Spain.
Along the alley you were walking
waves of Bordeaux soaked in milk,
pignon skin and anemones
floating through that orange scent.
I've never seen feet so much talking,
as if all the liquid consciously was falling
to hail you in your grace.
And I, a lion, heart of sun,
roaring with my whole of being
just to get your gaze,
was so banned in
sweet and bitter its perpetuum mobile
that I lost my place in time and space,
seeing imprints in the air, leaving trails of thousands of motions,
till you laid your mermaid fingers
into my brown, ragged, flowing mane,
fondling up my spine, entwining the burning focus
in my golden fire - still stuck in duality.
And she climbed my back, sank in my fur,
sent wind in whispers to my ears:
"Soon my moon, you don't have to look to me, no more.
Soon my moon, you'll know what you came looking for.
Soon my moon, you don't have to roar no more to shine."
Her black, soft branches fell over my face,
upside down,
her forehead on my snout, lips on my forgotten third eye:
"Soon my moon, you'll fall down.
Soon my moon, your crown as it is will not be worth one sound.
Soon my moon, you'll be in hell, finding your way as the grey
hellhound."
Spellbound, no breath was there to take - my eyes were crying:
"You can break
me,
if you want."
A moment worth of sinking and she was licking up my tears,
coming closer with her black holes,
"Let me be here for eternity, let me be...," last words of a king,
so she started to sing:
"Soon my moon,
soon my moon,
you know you have to fall,
to become sun,"
and she looked me in my eyes,
smiling in wisdom of her own,
as she swallowed me whole.
Hot hell, she fell, Bordeaux on fire
in honey pignon milk,
caramelized paintings on her skin
dripping off beautiful rose colored *******,
causing ripples under shock.
Sandcastles melting in her heat.
And I lay there, licking up her wounds
with now greyed paws,
while she's long gone.
A mix of daydreaming, memory, possible future, love
and pictures from which I don't know where they are coming from.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ef-4Bv5Ng0w
Don't know if it is finished yet, any ideas?