Out of a trance.

Transported,

into another time frame,

another second of grace

beyond our space

of a lifetime.

Rebuked and

without a trace,

vanished,

into an unknown

place.

Not a soul can 

find.

Without that grind,

we cease to realize

all the goodness that ensues.

The perfect momentum of time.

We understand

that life will go on

and we will be ok.

Nothing by empty words

follow that race.

Yet we see this

fault

and by no judgement of our

own,

we open.

Into secret dimensions

of overwhelming creativity,

passionate beings of

lustful art.

Decaying facades

dripping at our feet.

The world finally

sees us.

Nothing can deny

what we have become.

Spirits of trancendential worship

surround us.

Protecting our frail

bodies.

Time quickens,

delaying a sensational aftertaste

of naivity.

All at once,

but slowly,

trickling,

warm honey

oozing,

sickeningly sweet.

Then it is gone.

Again.

A shot is heard,

and it rebounds.

Echoing within deep caverns

of malicious thoughts.

Regret.

Coarsely wrapping her fingers

around my throat.

She chokes me with

writhing tentacles,

squeezing every emotion from

my body.

Nothing by black.

Still suffocating,

my wait has begun,

for that spark of

life that will light

my darkness.

Waiting.

Always in hope for a glimpse 

of energy, a dash of

color, but nothing will 

serve my ashen hearth.

He is hungry.

So much so that he

can only consume.

This pounding serves

as justice. From whom?

I do not know.

Blind and ruined.

I feel the storm

lift. 

Caked beneath mud,

blood pulses through my veins.

Shocked into existence,

it rushes through my body,

the warmth spreads to my toes.

Life.

In all of its glory

EXISTS.

For the outlaws who run

and gallop off in the sunset.

For the magicians who cannot

teach their craft.

For monsters in the night.

For fairies that shy away.

Life is for the untouchables.

Life craves youth.

To live,

he says, quietly but clear,

would be an awfully

great adventure,

then his spirit burst,

charged with electricity,

fueled by life.

 

By now the stars are out.

Gazing forlornly at a distant

mountain.

Glistening with snow,

she quivers, shaken by eternal

blasts of agony.

The stars shed soft tears for

the she-mountain.

Just as the moon arises to 

greet his lover, a stillness among

the flora envelopes the valley.

Not a creature stirs.

Then his chalky breath settles

upon the earth.

Tendrils of smoky

exhalation pollutes the air.

She wails,

crying, her lover has come.

His asymmetrical face,

beautifully imperfections appear before her.

Long gone is her lust.

The man on the moon

satiates the

she-mountains thirsts.

prolonged by summer's

serendipitus sunlight.

She longed for the icy

grip of his night

light. To be seen and

fulfilled.

 

The memory has drifted.

Images of days gone

by.

Untouchable.