Dancing between the cotton sheers of
a crimson night
light shining through, tinting my skin
tenacious in its touch
most brilliant in hue.
a technicolor, bull-teasing red in
a black and white
salt and pepper
forgotten
time immemorial
dance on the fire of the burning books
laughing at the powerlessness of
the hateful.
Evaporated wisdom
coats us all, a most precious film
like the charcoal with which you
color death.
Becoming death:
does it not sound enticing?
Can you judge –
Be honest.
if you could become
The Thing you fear
Would you not wed?
I want to fuck death’s power
But fear
Becomes me.
Dearest becoming,
from whence will you come
burn your bald feet on the bright
and fading coals?
Your cotton ties,
so flammable
lightly,
sweetly singe.