Where should I fathom myself,
Upon the furthest glacier that remains stagnant,
To the most nurturing of moons?
Blessed beauty, you’ve seen me,
And my fingers are broken.
And you’ve seen me, too,
With eyes that are swollen and red.
I’ve wept the nights away.
I’ve also felt strength alike a god,
And you’ve seen that, too.
I’ve died repeatedly,
For what I believe, truthfully.
The love we behold, in buried hands,
Beneath earth that sings a merry tune,
Of death and ashes,
We love with anguish and mercy.
Your eyes are dark and strange,
Your face so wild and vague.
You have tears that come from nowhere,
And blood that streams from everywhere.
I am in love with you, the kind I adore,
The beauty, I as well, abhor.
You make listless connections,
Wherever you find to be dearest.
I am the denial,
The worshiped nothing,
The god of no hands,
The man of no welts.
No bruises, no beatings, upon my shoulders,
There is only the strength I cling upon,
For our own surmise,
I am in love, with only, myself.