I. DESCENT
(The Pilgrimage of Want)
I dig through maroon reverie—
a penitent with teeth of rust,
kneeling where the cinnabar river runs
beneath your temple’s marble trust.
Svarga’s sins were sweet, but false—
nectar that rots the tongue.
Now I crawl, not for grace,
but the venom beneath your thigh’s hush.
Shinobi silence—
blade sheathed in breath—
I sever the world
with a flicker of thought.
No prayer but pulse,
no god but the one I’ve sought.
II. RAPTURE
(The Union — Twice as Long, as Fire)
Altar aflame in the basilica’s core,
where carmine sheddings
becomes incense,
and your moan
—a liturgy—
unstitches the sky’s sienna.
I lick the acidic manna,
gudgeon of hunger,
fool of flame,
belladonna-dazed,
dancing in your iris-lake,
a nameless thing
with no claim.
Hypothalamus lit—
a Borealis in neural lace,
knurled till neutral
in its speakeasy
keep safe race
each spark a vow,
each pulse a lie,
each thrust a stolen grace.
Your tertiary beam—
I twist it, ride it, break it—
cream becomes storm,
and I, the lightning, take it.
Court-jester of lust,
crutch of poison, pantomime in cyanide—
I brandish fuss
in a shroud of sighs,
blush like a wound opened wide.
You drink my wraith,
I drink your sound,
we feast on what we can’t sustain—
lavender head-rush,
inebriate bake,
the afterglow is pain.
III. ASH
Lex Talionis
and no law followed him
befell pon him,
as her hunting moon,
bound him.
(The Return to Dust)
Now steam—no form,
no fight—
your sky collapsed
on my hollowed dream.
No altar, no beam,
no name to call,
only the leaky ghost of a scream.
I siphon silence,
lick ornaments
from memory’s stain—
strawberry shadows,
salt and rust,
but the well is dry.
The vein.
The flame.
Flickers to sanguine sane
Depletion’s hush—
a susurrus in the bone—
wanderlust shushed,
the crutch now stone.
I was the gust, the gust was dust—
now I sleep in the wake,
where no tongue moves,
and no sky breaks.
(C)2026 Nomadic bard. All Rights Reserved.