down the hallway
where destiny led
inside a room
where inhibitions shed
white miracles bled
I’ll lay my head
to dream beneath
a non de plume
I’m not me, are you?
riotous beauty will bloom
where it is aptly
coveted
smell the sweet perfume
told our sweet, sensual song
will long be often
coveted,
down the hallway
where destiny led
But this is reality.
What I am thinking, believing,
She, I,
cannot speak to you...it is that
On the edge of Saturn,
watching 3 moons
sink and burn
drowning sorrows
in a intergalactic tavern.
I just can't find
the energy to believe,
so I keep asking,
who is inside my body?
not you, not him,
who is me inside of me?
On the edge of me,
is not the endless roses or
the fact they seem
to placate themselves in repose.
It is not even the field
of riotous color
that undulates endlessly,
what I was led
to believe.
Not even the heady scent
that has slowed my feet,
can compete
with what I believed,
and what now,
no longer do...
There is one who
reads my shreds.
feeds them back to me,
returns to me
the tapestry I saw,
but did not believe
was mine.
woven from my words,
woven from things
they discerned,
that tho I know them
to be me,
he led me to believe.
and now I know them
no longer as shreds,
but as mine,
mine tapestry.
shredded lettuce becomes a gourmet salad ;)