serene infinity

Scream for me,
mysterious muse,
who waits in shadows;
breathless panting.
Sing to me in almost-whispers,
threaded with the yarn of your mind,
needled with tantric acid.
I am falling up and down
with your
sweet symphonic crooning.
Tip and sway your reckless voice;
I will ride it like a tidal wave.
The dread of the Fates is on my chest,
warning me that if I do not follow you,
through streams and societies,
through myths and magic,
through evanescent tunnels and byways,
through conference rooms and ancient tombs,
I will miss the feel of my beating heart
against the nectar of your pumping blood.

14 Comments

  1. Pingback: serene infinity |
  2. Jack London would commit himself to writing 1,000 words a day. But he had to earn a living from it. It’s so much more cathartic to have a Muse call the words out of you.

Love you, too

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