I wash my hands in your lingering perfume,
In the warmth of your dwindling substance.
We are children of paradigms,
Of monsters branded and manifest.
We are angels with dragon’s breath.
My bones have taken to defense,
To occlusions of heart and ideology.
You must know my love
Is never comparable to hate
That the line is distinct and permeable
Only in moments of distress.
My wars, my vast terrible wars
Are only ever intended
As a holocaust of one, myself.
Immobility hurts more than animation.
Silence is by far the most devastating voice.
No, no we are not dead, not yet, not ever
For the universe has more hearts than we could ever know.
Eyes levitating in the dark, phantasms, romantics
They are watching pedestaled and quintessential
They have heard our wishes and consented, at last.
I got started late on the challenge but nonetheless I am going to take it as a far as I can