2.46 AM

my mind is coaxed awake from a particularly long train of thought, not yet asleep not fully awake, it seems as if sweet dreams were being brought

because I woke up after a million years—my soul floating up to the stars—my lips forming contentment in all it’s lazy luxuriant glory,

my hair soft—after ages in the sun—healing in the shade of night—my eyes heavy with the weight of your dreams and my senses are filled to the brim

my eyes are closing—i’m floating back down into sleep’s folding embrace and my mind is full of your soft peach lips and your sun warmed skin and your raven hair thick and curling between my fingers,

and I’m back again in your deep blue room and wind blown white curtains, your tumbling pile of books your unmade bed where your lips touched mine for the first time, your stack of records and films strewn around without a care because—because I’m full of you, you with your well-worn shorts and laughter bouncing off the walls, the evening sunlight turning you golden and Edward Sharpe singing Home.

And I am, I am. I am truly, truly, home.

The Apocryphal Transition

Late into the night willful sleep evades my company. I sit by my study swimming in varied hues of blue and the bluest, contemplating solitude. The thrill in the air does not pass by unnoticed to the mournful eyes, the sorry hands clasped, entwined in patient waiting. The last of the light begins to flicker, for a prolonged moment, signalling an end while the eyes gaze on.

I sense your familiar being, the rough of those toiling hands against my skin, the breathing – tremulous, contradicting the solemn air. Then in a deep kiss the world vanishes, the night dissolves in the distant background, the cold dissipates into an incredible warm, the blues are impregnated with colors of fierce passion. The fullness invading my being is overwhelming, satiating, quenching. Tempest shakes the very foundations of calmness. This is, this is the endless night, the night without an end. The night our escapade will be held , for eternities to come, in the whispers of lovers in the darkness, in the sinful promises of tomorrow.

Deliverance is an impassioned gift of Satan. A tempestuous kiss of the air on the quiet lips of black waters.

Tonight is the night of passing on; to the other side, which awaits, to hold us into it’s arms, this is the night of transition. The demons of the other side are tempting; twisted in his demands and broken in his promises the Devil has insinuated himself in the womb of the desiring Angel, of desires unfathomable, the darkest and the deepest.

” No thirst of ye shall remain unquenched” sayeth the Devil

The dying candle throws coquettish shadows on the peeling walls, the two shadows move in a perfect rhythm, the music of lust is unbridled, never ending;

The candle dies, I look into your eyes, the dark depths of need in mine are reflected in yours and yours in mine. The prolonged release. The perfect union. The ritual is come to a close and the night will soon close on us.

The blades are drawn, Not in fear, but in an unbreakable vow that we have pledged. The perfect union of the night will remain a memory, the night will hold it’s secrets.

Dawn finds an exhausted piece of wax on a tarnished candlestick. Two beings lay in a naked embrace. The white jasmines have turned crimson. The light has left their eyes but the euphoria remains frozen in their smiles.

At the end of our transition the whiteness blinds everyone, but I can still sense your being against mine. The coldness of the night is no more for the light is bright and unblinking. The other side is where we have come. The transition has come to a final close