The eyes should be plucked from their orbits
Submerged in formalin
Stored in a museum for all to gaze upon and know
My love is pure-tried by fire-
The fingers cut off at the second knuckle
The skin and meat picked from them leave
Pale Pale Pale white bone beneath
...Untouched by any other man
Scrape Scrape says the knife carving
Runes and poetry into the finger bones
So that all may know
My love was pure-tried by fire
The ****** knife danced
As in the sleep visions I cried out silently
Gray and muted were the eyes and
The voice was...lost from those lips
I remove the death mask to lick the cold lips of her corpse
Purple Petals that wither in the winter air
The warm cloud of my breath
Filling her nostrils
God breathing breath into Adam's first-rib
A lock of hair I disrupt
Falling from the high place
In Hurried Lust
I wonder at the stopped machinery that lies beneath
Do I dare slip the scalpel once more from its placement
And bring it to bare at the left breast?
It is the doing of another-I am no longer here
Searching for what is lost in the garden of her entrails
Wilting Bloom
I search the throat with my fingers
Reconstructing the final moments
Once more I run my fingers against thread
Delicatley I have sewn closed the gaping slash wound
To the throat warm spray a muted gurgle
Air slipping from the vocal chords disjointed dirge she sings to me
Forgetting quickly my stone ears deaf to such frivolities as mercy
The knife found it's own way through the breastbone
She and I are ancient beings
Our bodies sarcophagus for the true form
Released at last First Breath
Picking pieces of it from my teeth
Nail marks line my fore arms
Wounds tasting of the final throes
For she in peace dances at the feet of Him
Her wings cover her eyes
Her wings cover her feet
Holy seraphim returing crest raised high
Among the host
The great cycle completed
Tried by fire she is found whole once again
And I await with joy
The eternal punishment
Aug 24, 2013
Aug 24, 2013 at 6:39 PM UTC
The eyes should be plucked from their orbits
Submerged in formalin
Stored in a museum for all to gaze upon and know
My love is pure-tried by fire-
The fingers cut off at the second knuckle
The skin and meat picked from them leave
Pale Pale Pale white bone beneath
...Untouched by any other man
Scrape Scrape says the knife carving
Runes and poetry into the finger bones
So that all may know
My love was pure-tried by fire
The ****** knife danced
As in the sleep visions I cried out silently
Gray and muted were the eyes and
The voice was...lost from those lips
I remove the death mask to lick the cold lips of her corpse
Purple Petals that wither in the winter air
The warm cloud of my breath
Filling her nostrils
God breathing breath into Adam's first-rib
A lock of hair I disrupt
Falling from the high place
In Hurried Lust
I wonder at the stopped machinery that lies beneath
Do I dare slip the scalpel once more from its placement
And bring it to bare at the left breast?
It is the doing of another-I am no longer here
Searching for what is lost in the garden of her entrails
Wilting Bloom
I search the throat with my fingers
Reconstructing the final moments
Once more I run my fingers against thread
Delicatley I have sewn closed the gaping slash wound
To the throat warm spray a muted gurgle
Air slipping from the vocal chords disjointed dirge she sings to me
Forgetting quickly my stone ears deaf to such frivolities as mercy
The knife found it's own way through the breastbone
She and I are ancient beings
Our bodies sarcophagus for the true form
Released at last First Breath
Picking pieces of it from my teeth
Nail marks line my fore arms
Wounds tasting of the final throes
For she in peace dances at the feet of Him
Her wings cover her eyes
Her wings cover her feet
Holy seraphim returing crest raised high
Among the host
The great cycle completed
Tried by fire she is found whole once again
And I await with joy
The eternal punishment
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