The truth is this:
you have met
or will ever meet
was once a human being
with a soul
that was as soft
that silk from their soul
and turned them
So when you see
a monster next
do not fear
the thing before you
fear the thing
that created it
Our hands paint intimate conversations
on the canvas of our flesh.
We speak without word or voice,
guided by the whims of our breath.
In the ebony of this night, I am not afraid
Because my heart is bound to yours
with a ribbon of November silk.
I consider for a moment, the way
your flesh responds to my touch.
The moonlit ebb and flow
of shadows upon your skin,
glittered with sparks of ecstasy.
Lying beside you, I close my eyes
And you turn towards the cave of my neck,
taking your rightful place in my arms.
My heart quickens in anticipation
of the intimate moment when
Our breathing becomes one and
I am unsure of where I begin
and end in this embrace and
I do not care because I am certain
at this moment I do not need to exist
Apart from you.
The chemistry of our breath swells
with the nectar of dreaming
and I catch a waning glimpse
of a glowing butterfly fluttering
in the aether above us.
I will never untie this November silk
to loosen the tether between us.
I do not want to be alone
in the ebony of this night
without a word to say,
Without someone whose heart
is bound to mine.
Hugged by plastic.
A rigid, shiny stone,
Holy and smooth as silk.
It calls upon you.
Its dark face glowing with glee,
its still form
trembling in tantrum.
Eyes gawk eagerly while
dexterously trained fingers
Slide their grease-stained trail
across its blossoming surface,
trapped in vanity.
A technological marvel,
one might say,
it’s glistening roads worshipped and
All the images: moving, smiling, addicting.
The knowledge of the universe, packed into
a tiny, plastic cocoon,
festering, growing, evolving,
eager to be eaten.
Endorsing gluttonous laze, and
it lulls you in with its
digital spindle embrace, the
sharp strings of data
reaching in through the eyes and
touching the optic nerve.
Neurons swell in ecstasy, pupils dilate, the heart screams;
matter of the brain catches fire in
its electrical storm, and
cascades into chemical climax.
Satiating a toxic lust.
turns to black,
stuck to your hand like glue.
Enveloped within the musings of ardour,
I was the pencil etching upon the refined
blank verses of her needing's.
Engraving within the crevasses of her
yearning, writing syllables felt deep within.
She was an impression on my heart.
We were woven of different silks that merged
beautifully woven deep within the emotions
of each others rousing verses.