1305 EST.
I lie.
The fevered dream returns.
The raging fire of Apollo and his thundering steeds’ gait soon to burn.
O’er horizon’s edge, moving on.
Only to return again before long.
I stare out upon a vastness.
The one on an unraveling ledge’s seam,
The one ‘tween Forest of Night and Desert Dawn beams.
Knotted bramble, time and empty space trodden for so long.
The fevered dream yearns.
For medals it has not earned.
Amongst the pantheon of stars
And their graceful, supple curves.
Gods’ nectar taking flight.
The fevered dream at long last awake.
I lay here now quietly merged.
Returned from that Astral Place,
The Plane where Souls wander along cosmic turns.
Corridors of galaxies milky ways.
Those just beyond Heaven’s Gate.
I lay here now and listen to the river of crill.
Pass through balene mouth
Pouring forth, cascading really.
From cetacean delta into the world.
Then call it art.
Thrilled to consume.
To consummate.
To be redressed.
Here, at long last.
Back where it all began.
The fevered dream cools to ebbing embers’ glow.
I lay here all alone.
Lying to myself you’ll ever come home.
Know your tender whispered words, caressed from saucy lips.
O’er my hungry ear awaiting the curve of your hips.
Hug my spooned body, hot breath trickle in.
Causeway Spine rising like a tide from the shiver you send.
Phantom scripture now.
All of it, one whose composition
Words, as Ram Dass says,
All lies.
The ones you spoke, the ones I yearned
To hear all those long lonely nights.
Love craved but need it be earned?
So very long and yet only a moment ago.
When time didn’t exist.
It was only a fated, fateful, now fateful twist.
A dagger’s piercing tip.
Soft patter of blood’s drip.
The Lover and Her Pelt, soft now.
Released yet too soon for rigor’s grip.
Motionless, fresh from the kill.
Train whistles, clapboard frame rattle ‘gainst the sill.
One last kiss for the dead.
Is it too much to ask?
I prophesied myself in this break.
Heart at last wide and open.
Soul full and still.
Cover page credit: sln.me