The center of gravity is in direct proportion to the placement of irregular objects, mutant auras filled with vessels... She is the siren of her haunting. You are not yourself, but the desire of it. Your reflection eludes the shadow.

*

When the mirror is replaced by instinct, the absurd and beautiful grinding follows the arousal of her immaculate gaze pierced with pure white teeth. She is a secret phrase uttered with a fine powdered dust that emulates the salamander (that ubiquitous change of clothing) busily unwinding its hallucinations for the phantoms spinning silk with firelight, germinating beneath the pylons and diverging obsessions of the bridal chamber. There are utterances baffling enough to raise the dead and scour the living.

*

In the last quadrant of the city held intact by the light of stars, there is blood flowing from the beauty of her intricate invasions. The Night-Keeper dreams of his negative solutions so long ago ignited by those randomly spinning signs of life having taken up residence in the gardens of a periphery encounter. Visions were like golden pebbles among the roots of the tree of night, slowly moving behind you, breathing heavily, ripening, obscene...

 

V