lover, o lover, thou art enigmatic

thy courtship is one of ice pick precision

thine face transmitted, yet i saw naught but static

and crooked green flowers which announce thy position

i dream of blood and i dream of betrayal

but in those old days all i dreamt of was you

and i am afraid, when i step past the veil

a man with no soul will awake and come through;

a mirage of something beyond all the crumbs,

a glimpse of Eden from outside the gates

not that living ribless under Gods thumbs,

unknowing, seems so appealing these days

but naked still, the last man walks alone,

the sweet fruit turning bitter after rotting away

a touch of love yet may turn us to stone

since i drowned in the deluge, as i thought not to pray

17.05.24