I call her Luna



I have to write love to you
choking here,

turned away,

in wake the of hyacinths garden

in this formless place


beyond the within
confined again
into an alluring night
upon a sleepless silhouette

where I am vapor in the air


here in sorrow I have set
secrets shielded
all logic censored
now my mouth is in an incessant abyss

passions in plasma and the nucleus of the fiend

a heartless climax


wildness of bodies that have her, I call her Luna

I plead to taste 

for my lips to touch fantasy

and lick the juice

that reflectes the light
where I pierce it and then reproduce

Author's Notes/Comments: 




insanabile scribendi cacoethes

 roughly tranlated


an incurable desire to write


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