It would be two years before I would see you drifting there again Arms ravaged and spread apart Knowing and resisting
The hymn of the lotus Who coursed our path So many times before– Wailing, suffering,
So that redemption may Find and overtake us. Consolation rounds the way And becomes what we aspired to be
Back when your trembling hand Took repose in my altar, And the phantasmagoria of Unlicensed touches
Dutifully escaped us. Become still, my love, And submerge your guilt Into my aching abyss.
Decry not the glory of Tattered saints in line to drink From the abundant rivers Of our forgotten travails.
Mold them into centers of incandescence With wings glistened by The silken nectar of our lust And musings felt but unseen.