i bathe myself with
the music that i alone, hear.
i heed the flinch
of my heart's centrifuge -
gyrates purely without
a hand holding it,
in a lonesome,
contrapuntal waltz.
i lie naked yet untouched,
this aloneness.
even my words prosper in
the tumescence of speechlessness.
hurrying back to
dimming light
is my body ready to feed
the wick of this dark.
traipsing the
bareness of this pantheon
is my soul,
and no one else's.
solemnity scales the stars
and transforms them
into margins to fence my own universe:
i am the only celestial here,
spinning in a thousand days
of restlessness.
Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 6:04 AM UTC
i bathe myself with
the music that i alone, hear.
i heed the flinch
of my heart's centrifuge -
gyrates purely without
a hand holding it,
in a lonesome,
contrapuntal waltz.
i lie naked yet untouched,
this aloneness.
even my words prosper in
the tumescence of speechlessness.
hurrying back to
dimming light
is my body ready to feed
the wick of this dark.
traipsing the
bareness of this pantheon
is my soul,
and no one else's.
solemnity scales the stars
and transforms them
into margins to fence my own universe:
i am the only celestial here,
spinning in a thousand days
of restlessness.
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