(6.07am)
My tongue licks the cotton-candied colored cloud.
My eyelashes scratch heavens entrance.
I am tantalized by the aroma of peace…
The irony of finding what I covet most for in dawn’s dance. The sexual struggle of both sun and moon, fighting for the space in the sky that only I inhabit
If beauty is subjective –
If I can construct my own reality,
Than I want this to be it.
I will not wait for the impossible:
I am intoxicated, immortal, everything is achievable.
my tolerance level builds, the need for more of it increases and I am beginning to fear any third party intervention.
If euphoria can be natural, if I can inhale ether, than you are my eighteenth century narcotic.
To walk out high
And watch. The sun return from a visit far west. Met by no other than the defiant moon, not yet ready to leave. To hold both – and dance a pink ballad in silent memory of whispered words. An inspiration so intimate I begin to think it dreamt. Grasp strands of memory – link letters into words, ( invented?) …( am I ) courting the devil’s lovechild: ?
My addiction is only as strong as your yearn.
To walk out far above the ground
Into a celestial battle – where clouds are melting into shades more commonly seen in carnivals.
I have walked out. satisfied desire...
I have been kissed by heaven, licked it… and it tastes like you.
“among the remedies which it has pleased Almighty God to give to man, none is so universal and so efficacious as… “ – Sydenham, 1680
