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 returingΒ Β crest raised high Among the host The great cycle completed Tried by fire she is found whole once again