xxviii.) March

Bending back against oaken branches,

devour time instead of our unpacked lunches.

Ecstatic as the falling cherry blossoms unto

the lavender leeches.

Skin turning into bark, friction snapping

superfluity of those twigs without passion.

 

We’re fashioning the master and the mistress,

sapping away our tangled shadows within

the tree. We’ll follow the rain drops to the

sun-filled roots learning what we’ve long forgotten

and always known, in Her wisdom and not our

knowledge.

 

Our demise are now flawless, no love made is

harmless. Bound to the raging rounds of Deathe,

Ravaged by limbo would we trade it to cycle

once more…

 

The mottled coil shows the pig in us, silver linings

are better severed than bound. Golden means

and these thoughtless geometries, the walls

have fallen the floor worn away and the ceiling

pealed backwards.

 

Spiral into the motionless monadic void, shall

that demiurge part us again. Without directions

we may cycle again, without directions we

may cycle again, without directions

we may

cycle

again.

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