Monday, 4 a.m.
Truth is
whatever darkness you choose it ignore
If you deny
love, then it will deny you
Pain is
inseparable from pleasure & love is an exquisite form of torture
Love is erotic
because it is dangerous
Twist time into
a knot until it gets it (though becoming conscious of itself)
Not the stone &
not the words
As if that
plain fact were enough decaying matter
Sex is change &
change is the essence of everything
Stumbling in
the dark stairwell, ill-lit by that feeble, dangerous lamp, while
you drag along, strapped to you, the corpse of all your errors
Strangle me &
you shall touch me
Love was the
phantom whose shape kept on shifting
I leaned over
and tasted his body until he trembled with pleasure
Hears again: I
want to be with you
