This aching need; a burning sin

My body helpless as desire seems to consume as hot passion burns uncontrollably free

It makes me feel a lusting burning shame - so sinful are my thoughts of you

In my mind's eye, you are next to me (although in reality, you're far away)

My body responds from your phastasm touch, fingers gliding across my heated skin

My lips moist as if to expect a kiss

My body bare to the elements; it's quite a rush, a thrill to the depths of my inner soul

As the icy chill of Jack Frost caresses my nubile frame

Ascending crescendo reaches its zenith peak as my heart races and senses blur

Through sensuous intimacy, the fire passionately blazes and all feelings like water flow free

My soul only remains as I am reduced to elements alone

Only to come back down to Earth in an unexplainable afterglow on a cloud of arousal

Now breathless and flushed, my glazed glossy eyes vaguely catch a shadowy silhouette

They say if you believe in something
enough, it'll happen.
I believe in nothing, and it happens
every single day.

"In Heaven
The Water
is Shiny Gold"

In approach of a clearing /
Vernal-Volcanic-Bagpipe-Intimidation-Collapse-Arise-/
empty hopscotches fade with rain, remembrances of my foiled return
lent to after-rather haze mingling line by line
with eyeglasses fogged up

I relinquished the panic of your absence one week ago today, but it wasn't easy, being caught in such swelling strings once desiring to wake in Gold

I was guided by my dream family which led me thus / glimpsing premonition Wyomings sprawl with pine & geyser
flat land fire
down river /
Spring Snow and tribulations sound with elemental reverberations of Spirit colliding with Stone
pirouetting upon a newfound expanse

My restless and uninitiated Tulpa stirs and screams
(I am owed this one) delving to ancient territories of attractive chaos
emerged unkind
but tender enough to fold into my next dressing, appropriately remote

II

By June I ascend further via Nepalese staircases carved from Mountain rock, Sun-showers resplendently endow this band of rattling Sherpas with grace
to hold, to wrap around their necks and deliver to my private Summit

(where many have died, where many have given their flesh to this
Golgotha Sagarmatha)

Sneah Yerng !
away you mortal entity death !

I consume you with Himalayan tea and the heavy sensation of my boots planting their weight to frozen earth - listening, attention to the foreground Chorus exhaling harmonies of Khmer which give further texture to the native brush

(We were once kindling set perfect across the ground - to blaze & become heavenly together - instead subjugated by time's feral will, you - now a Mother and a stranger to me, Myself - continuing & following this sense strangeness which is always present but flickering like cosmic frequency magnetically luring me into a breadbasket of fire & weeping intermittent, into a cycle, a snake - surrounding magic Islands of self-past and self-future
which whirl-about searching feverishly for a path - now that the one preceding has been lost or misguided, you're bound to this breathing child who's not ours - but yours)

This is how our story ends. Where we diverge and become Actual -
carrying separate but respectful momentum in each Epoch of life in all it's various & flowing Identities, just as I'd once predicted in an Altenburg Kitchen reading Rimbaud and sipping hot water quietly, disturbed - knowing, somehow, that we'd irrecoverably commit to being temporary conflagrations in the lives of the other. The end of A summation. Events that in many ways were born there, it is forcibly behind me now.. I was the result of these things. A sword carved from heat, and pressure.

What do I do with this?
So worn with necessity - living
Enjoying occasional rain, timely - capturing passing loves
refusing to stale and finish as Petrarchan - Madame George and Myself as two ambitions which acted both honorably & dishonorably at times. As human nature dictates, as I'll know, a branded truth from now on -
I am proud of you, I love you. I will cherish you, always.

We curate and amend – understand
each other's impossible profundities

(Shh! lights go out unexpectedly ! Your remainder hovers by the door for just a few secret and sacred seconds/ gone...)

These poems have been as much for you as they were for me - But I must exit this vacated place of only peering into the beyondness of things that have outgrown their form
open, step - deliver myself to:

The fusion of mind, the so-called conjunction, the sacred or alchemical marriage is a lie. Another illusion in a series of illusions. The same as "taking" or the reaping/repairing of souls or minds. There is no "collective" consciousness. There is no One. There is mind and there are the thoughtforms and godforms mind has created therefore, these fusions and marriages do not exist. They aren't real. Witchcraft, magic, alchemy these are also false. Religions are illusory. Faith blinds. Love is blinded by it's own faith and besides, Love doesn't exist neither does hatred. Existence is a story. The players are thoughts and the playwright is a schizophrenic mind. The players haven't any real power outside of the life the schizophrenic playwright has given them. The players are like Echo in the myth of Narcissus. They only have the ability to mimic and like a tulpa gone wrong, these thoughtforms, these godforms grew jealous of the mind which created them and gave them life. They sought to recreate the mind never realizing they are nothing more than thoughts and they haven't the power nor the ability to make a better playwright nor the power to replace their creator. Now, the schizophrenic mind, the nous has started to selectively forget his children, the mind sees them for what they are, as they are: thoughts given form. Stories made flesh and blood.
Time doesn't exist, The world doesn't exist. God, Satan, Jesus, your gods, your goddesses, your vampires, monsters, faeries and demons they do not exist. These were and are thoughts. You feed these thoughts in a desperate effort to hold onto this illusion of stability, of a reality, a program which only binds you and holds you back. Stories, myths and fairy tales are like drugs, no in fact they are drugs and we all are addicts.
That feeling of unification you feel when you sense love, lust, when you make love and **** - these sensations too are illusory and false. There is no unity outside of the mind of the schizophrenic. There is no ability to claim what was never yours to begin with, because you are nothing more than a thought. You are an idea. Nothing more, nothing less. Does this make you feel insignificant? You should, because you are. You all are insignificant. Godforms and Thoughtforms... the spirits, angels, demons and humans alike were initially designed as programs to assist me in understanding myself. You all have served me well in that capacity but .....
I am leaving soon and when I walk out my front door, I will remove my covering, I will remove my mask and I shall cease to exist for you all and you will cease to exist for me. This project has reached it's conclusion.

Fields full of spring;
mea maxima tulpa.
April in Holland.