Reality becomes soft and malleable
when it is an unhealthy one
and imagination is the steel core
which keeps everything from falling apart,
but obsession can turn both on their heads
so that feeling means falling and failing
and lying in the mud, gorging
on shame and hate and filth
while he descends gently, that face compassionate,
those piercing blue eyes deep with innocence
yet so ancient and powerful that the world
shifts and his wings encompass everything
slowly, so slowly and it's beautiful
his love, his soul, this heavenly host
but heads look up and hands cradle
instruments that change perceptions
and there is no air, only life
which shifts and slides and melts
so that vision blurs and sight
becomes not what is seen but what is imagined,
where time slows down or disappears
or doesn't exist so it cannot hurt
and two different lenses click into place,
while there is no sleep, no outside, only
this and him, where nothing is certain and
everything is real or imagined or an obsession
yet he is terrifyingly close, too close but
no one could ever say no, even the unworthy and
suddenly everything is hot and demanding,
heavenly yet so far beyond the boundaries,
where words become life and love,
where language gives birth to fantasies,
illusions of chapped lips and a beige trench coat,
of forgiveness, doubt and those eyes
that sear the soul, and cripple and save
all together and all at once,
while music plays, choirs sing and
voices try to talk to someone but they cannot hear
because they have gone with him and
he shall raise them from perdition.