there is something good and some light in this desire enraging my cells with divination chanting sculpting my shape in violent curves I don't recongnize the hues of mornings because of frenzy: the new definition of gravity along the lines mesmerizing visions of softness and caring
love is a whirlwind in any language a clear water so you can see how translucent nakedness can be
hers is the bending of space to smaller and smaller atoms of delight, fusion, diffusion, infusion
it holds you tight from the very centre (heart&lungs) when it breaks you and then these traces the swarming of photons in the fabric of skin sweet radiance, energetic warmness an arch, a cohort of waves crushing everything like cherries' sense reality sense roads' sense
a scarring refusing to scream/bleed defiance of stillness music of laughter sun raising in your hands
there is something beautiful for the poetess in me it just describes herself well for the never-day it transmutes anything: beauty into horror horror into despair despair into words even thought into singing birds
“For beauty is nothing but the beginning of terror which we are barely able to endure, and it amazes us so, because it serenely disdains to destroy us. Every angel is terrible.”