Flipping through faces
And names.
The ideal dies
In the animal.
The joy dies
In the lust.
The silver lining
Of the moon
Dies from rust.

But your eyes
Are diamonds
Made of stardust.


-- Eleanor

Everybody has a sacred spot
A river bank, a temple,
A state of mind --
I climb up
Onto your weirdest thoughts
And lie down
In a trippy cold space.
My eyes closed,
Your heart locked --
My feelings
Gush in a rush
To be modelled and shaped
Into a mixture of nothing,
And the desire
To see our shadows
Dance together.


-- Eleanor