~ Moving beyond the sun to where our minds are a fraction behind us, believing they've found the other-side.
I am glass shattered by redemption, and I am now the shadow of a mirrored divinity, for somewhere out there is a god resembling my face, and its nakedness stares me down.
Raising eyebrows at the moon as if this is love's culprit, yet, opening arms and minds welcome the thereupon lust as if some devoted era: bow and arrow shapes of you and me, falling out of love without travail, but of constant ease.
I look better in black and white than in vulnerability, my exploitation of private earth looms casual, though I'm well aware of the vibrations it sends.
Manipulators of love and war were all we really wanted to be, cheating destiny by falling for the future.
And from this side of our mind the sun was always cold, just a vague old relic in a fresh grave: a princess ruling among the ruins of past decisions, and happily she gives a stagnant kiss of consequence.
Recommitted wind breaks through, like turning, burning pages desperate to speak.
But I'd rather that her white lies take me now, than a waking grasp or a skirmishing wave terrorize me, as this black [media] plagued sun's desecrated heart bleeds and recalls to mind the coming blasphemy. ~