By the horizon sits a man of silver,
Unsullied by the tarnished ghosts buried in the sand.
He softens the memories that cling to my broken touch,
And adorns me with the breath of a thousand brilliant moons.

Let me swim in the silver man,
Let his skin sculpt oblivion into me.
Bathe in the softness of his scintillating reverie
As my soul dances in the elixir of his kiss.

His shadows cradle the valley.
A gradient echo caressed by twilight.
His light, drawn by the moon, teases the summit.
He melts into the river of a flow forged divine,
and rises from the fertile soil of my seed bound by sublime.
My old wounds, sacred and scarred, flourish in an orchid of stars.
As sunlit pheromones, ember-clad sparks, seek my shimmering marks.

The silver man swims in me.
His soul—
Sparkles under my tears.
And as he glides upon my delicate whimpers,
He drinks from the plume nestled between my eyes.

By the horizon, I sit — adored in flesh.
Born of radiant bruises and solemn breath.
My touch gilded in silver-bound ribbons.
Whispering the joy of collapsing suns.

Entwined with the lover I envision.