Not that This Night Make Any Difference (5/3/04)

not that this night make any difference
amongst the living or the dead coldly decaying
breathing stench into the bowels of the earth
that I find someone amusing bewildering enticing as you
bronze lips fluidly locked into mine
wax hands scented like cinnamon lavender hair and almond eyes
near to perfect yet not yet
encumbering my being of void
incensing emotions long frigid with want and lack
lacking entity
wanting substance
of form
flesh and
bones
and blood and sweat
softly
fluidly
gilded with fire
of a burning heart striking light
into the deep darkness of the emptiness
into the vastness of waste
into the silence of solitude
out of the realm of Morpheus
and into daylight's first beam.