Black Poetry : f r i c t i o n

hypersleep

Member
REGISTERED MEMBER
Mar 26, 2001
15
0
seattle
The heavens I grace are hers.

In a huff of pleasure I wake up
in her days, immune to the reality of
unimmortality.

She parts space as I move through,
diving bird plunging in
mid morning air, unconcerned that I'm
late to leave.

Late because I am slow in her motion.
Dreamily walking, propelled by
our exposed mental fiction
that's like exposed metal friction

What other Goddess is such the Star?

This is necessary,
the movement,
the thoughts,
the pain.
 

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