Thunder… then lightning,
feverish caress of musky notes,
****** scent of loving irony
to curiously tempt each edge
of such a fractionated cubism.
Tiny desert rose, ready
to dilate all its farthest dusty ravines
just to feel its lymph racing out of bounds.
Hot water runs down on me,
raw and bitter into my mouth,
a taunting sadism
for better wince, essentially
in a universe that is not there.
Painted glow of cynic nocturnes,
diluted to loss,
watered down to dawn.

Often her beauty is passed over,
Many a dress is wasted,
She cannot acquire his attention,
No matter how she dresses up,

She dies at every failure,
She longs for a single glance,
To be graced by a single word,
Living to be noticed by him,

Every night she dreams,
Of life with him and her,
The pangs of love chain her,
To a life of slavery,

After her will is broken,
When she is no longer strong,
She reverts to her more natural self,
And he seeks her out,

He finds and admires her person,
He sees that she is at peace,
She cannot believe it was so easy,
To meet her only love,

All of our faking and strutting,
All of the false looks,
They only cover our colors,
And hide us from true love,

There is a land, over the sea,
Where all around, on hills and spires,
Stand tall and gleaming, in morning sun,
The Silver Statues, still and hushed,

They watch over their land, constantly,
Eyes all around, There are no secrets,
The statues know all, even the darkness,
None can hide, from the statues eyes,

Ages of memories, stored in silver,
Boundless wisdom, locked within,
Silently watching, waiting for an age,
When this eternal punishment, shall ensnare them no more,

Statues connected, by thought and by mind,
Standing guard, for all of time,
Ranks on an island, invaluable stones,
But none can see them, or share in their load,

This is the penalty, for those who betray,
Those who cross, and harm their friends,
He is chained, in a world of pain,
For he cannot repay, an innocent friend,