I was waiting on the doorstep, abandoning any
reign, reason in tatters
as parades of
absurdity unfolded one by one-
losing the formula
for distilled feeling
and left with pure
poison instead,
sipping on itself
from the blossoming cup,
devastating, cureless,
eating up the entirety of now.
I was waiting in
front of the altar for the rituals to begin,
with you as
priestess, to give meaning to chaos and freedom to musts,
forgetting that the
pages turned and I'm not in that story anymore,
the one where I can
even dream of these things;
left only with
reactions instead of naked perception
and weary of sights.
Are we still wedded
to an image?
With eyes closed we should transform it all.
