The waiting drowns the honey in my mouth
dancing blindly
veering softly in the white arms of the forgiving night
Nature knows
that longing begs to die
touching insides of the visions in my dream

I let it finger my mind
Curiously brutal it burns like old pride
in the aurora
where the pink
is born,
parading around like forgotten woes

I have never looked at myself;
the kind of drunk patience
that undresses
us too well
And breathing seemed easier when we spoke of flesh
If skin and bone is heavy
Then I have all my past lives and lovers hanging by the neck
See me as myself before the fire
scorches the illusions
paralysed
by your sight.