I have never been a religious soul but I found a cathedral in my bedroom in the form of your body hardening beneath the white linens attached to my mattress. It was the perfect combination; I'd begin on my knees between your thighs and sin again and again in the form of sliding you down my throat, and then I would crawl up your body and sit on your lap and rock back and forth as I prayed for redemption. I never knew grace until you pressed your kiss to my breast and I never felt a revelation until you tucked your hand inside me for safe-keeping and wouldn't remove it until my whole body was shaking. And because I have never been a religious soul I fear that I cannot promise to return to this cathedral but I'll be ****** if I don't burn it down before I go.

An inexplicable alchemy blends us
and transform, when you are with me;
I am fully filled up by what is 'you'
then, how could'I' be there, it's all you.

How does the moon wax and wane?
Who wrote this recipe, what is their name?
A legendary greek god or goddess,
Shaping the constellations around this lunar bodess?
Creating the mysterious opaque hue,
Is the sun's light, golden and fierce to lovely and blue,
The unique and silent craters and hills,
Brought into existence by lazy asteroids who take a spill,
The moon's fine white pixie dust,
Contributed by comets drawn near with lust,
Its spidery web of fear and adventure that draws us near,
Is woven of used up dreams leaked out of the creatives' ears,
Here are some great wise rocks,
Dumped from a bottomless black hole's treasure box,
Its stately mountains are sweetly refined,
By the artistic alien's touch from another time,
And the reverberating echoes of the valleys, regal as Egyptian tombs,
A secret ingredient: vibrations of the transcendal omnipresent omniscient aum,
The cold still and airless atmosphere,
Was perfectly designed by departed souls with a wish to persevere,
For the moon's body, they borrowed a part of earth,
Promising a silent and knowing angel to guard it after its birth,
And the simple motion itself, the motion that makes the creature wax and wane,
is made of the tireless energy known as Yin and Yang.

My bones are on fire
flashes from a casket
all the words have sprouted wings
a hint of something working
I'm lost in a thought
but my chains are bleeding
and I'm pinned to the wall
and it's getting harder to keep pulling.

I once felt warmth, I once was loved,
I once smiled as I looked above ,
to see the sky, a wonderous sight,
and way up high, a mighty light

I once felt the grass brush along my feet,
I once could see where the sky and ground meet
I once could feel the wind blow through my hair,
and see the blue birds play in the air

Then a storm headed my way,
dark clouds covered the sun's ray
The warming faces I could not see,
and all that I felt was misery

There I was stumbling around,
love and joy could not be found
surrounded by a vast pool of darkness,
lonley and startled, I could not rest

When I spotted a most magnificent sight,
a small but bright speck of light,
and so I gleamed at the thought,
of what the near future brought.

this was written by Jessica Miller, November 3rd 2009

I thought I could see.
that I was aware      
but not really.

I thought it was real
that I could grasp it
but not really.

It was just the smudginess, the
glossy illusion    

And worst of all
in those sweet seconds
I thought I was whole                
but not really.

have you ever tried holding air in your hands?
cup it slightly, like this;
can you feel it?
hold it firmly, and make sure it
doesn’t drip from your fingers
air is life
you try to make it stay
within the walls of your flesh and blood,
and incarcerate it behind the bars of bone;
but it always finds a crevice
between your clean, filthy fingers
and escapes