The Obelisk (For my lost MUSE) Part II

“Love is the wholeness that You bring unto me”

Love is the religion of forgiveness. Love is a pill that jams in the throat. Love is a Christian with a .45 caliber pistol toy. Love is a butterfly with wings of foil. Love is frozen blood shattered by clothes on the floor. Love is Jesus defenseless in all of us. Love is the sun mounting the moon in an eclipse. Love is the rain of purple salamanders. Love is the electric bloodstain on the bed sheets. Love is a black widow laying its eggs. Love is the phantom trail of crashed cars. Love is a burning rocking horse. Love is the plantation of coconut trees inside the fridge. Love is the Self violently freed finally in a suicide.

You are the love that thaws me. You are the earth in the dreams of the dead. You are the black sunshine that keeps me be. You are the woman whose feet crushed the Serpent’s head. Your are my Sabbath, my ice, my wine. You are the fire that burns me without end, and my ashes are never consumed and never blown away by the wind. You are the goddess of the final twilight, and you lull the lilac sunflowers of the sunshine to sleep.

Yes, I have loved you with the passion of twenty decaying saints and of wet matches. I love you angel with the finality of methane nebulas. Do you know that inside you clenched fist my heart is beating at the speed of light? I wish to open your hand tonight.

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“Tonight I dream of my unfathomed melancholy”

I could pretend that I am really a man, when I think that time is just a black rose opening, like the wings of demons slaying angels – yes, before us opening memories inside photographs. And the black is a clock without hands, and tonight we are, I am afraid. I am afraid of tomorrow’s coming: what is there to see except the sun? except frozen timepieces? Except wilted flowers? Except open mouths? What is there to see except my own reflection? Tonight I am elemental sadness, and you are gatherer of black rose. I am surprised to see us amidst this blooming garden of blackness. Tonight, yes, tonight, woman, we are sad. Tonight doors dissolve into seeds, and the black rose closes, it shuts because you are preparing to fly. So what is there to see tomorrow when there are no longer roses to pick, and when even the sun shall refuse to rise for me?

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“My heart bleeds, ten – fold back of karma”

I call out to you, I need to be loved. What is there to see beyond the now? What is there to feel when I become numb? I call out to you, if you must go leave at once. So shall you come to her? Shall you drown? Shall you descend the stairs? Shall you dawn, or die tonight? Shall you fly to the Himalayas, or to California? Or shall you go before God tries crack besides love?

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“Tonight, I bid farewell and hope that tomorrow will be good to me”

In times of solitude and wordlessness, I become a black obelisk with my tip exploding into a wooden sun. The angels bow at my exit if this alley, and the skin of my shoulder blades cracks open, my wings unfurl then, I lift myself, and join the V formation of molten amethyst – winged demons flying opposite your direction, and towards the rising crimson sun.