A cycle of

Egg
Larvae
Pupae
Moth.

To the flame and then again.

Does Prometheus enjoy his struggle,
Having tasked an eternity?

Rivers of red,
Shallow display of blood
Mixing with soil and sand
Flowing down
Always down.

A world of red blood
And red rivers.

Apples
And
Cigarettes

Go so well together.
The fruit of death
And the sower of it.

Call this purgatory
But it's not quite.

It's a balance between
Heaven
And
Hell.

Heaven from these waking and sleeping moments
Blanketed in your warmth
In your books and hair
And skin.
Showered with love
Cleaned by it
And showing true selves.
No puppetry.

And Hell
For all the same reasons gone.
No infinities
No blankets of lasting warmth.
All safety being yanked from me upon sunrise,
The ouroboros dwindling
And anxiety of next day.
To lose your libraries, your sheets, your smell and touch
In one instant.

Heaven AND Hell.
Forever sewing themselves into these moments.
Sine and Cosine.
The snake of comfort.

My librarian.
So calculated
Controlled
Controlling
Similar.
She's decided.
I'm decided.

Synched.

Old memories
Of touch and feel
Of pick and peel
And pray and kneel.

Old sensations
Of you and me
Of us and we
And watch and see.

Dusty
     Old
          Memories.
Like classics
In a library.

Tucked away
For a later date.