I wandered through the halls of an turbulent sleep
and felt the fight of winged black upon the paint of my mask,
when I kissed it it turned into perfume and set itself within
the dungeons of my heart's lack. I spotted the edge of a weapon
where it had dissapeared with marble blood flowing across a cobblestone
path, I spotted the empty words within its beak bleating questions
that no one had learned to ask. But within my velvet coat,
"It is all the same to me whether I fight or refuse to attack."

One day my armor grew a deep and blood red crack
below my chin and jawline where I chewed the ends of spaghetti
strands and where I worshiped cadaverous verbatims
that the barbaric Christians told me were black. But
the words saved my life like a silken parachute billowing
with the edges of a wild wind that flew back
in replete perfection of a dome made more beautiful
than Classical Renaissance artist's masterful tact.

And it was a woman who saved my life from scalpel's fact.
It was a woman who drove me across the wasteland with ribbons
fluttering as arm bands to beauty's army
enraptured with the rare gift of a desert rose
amid craggy mountainous peaks, amid a dust of stars
filling ravines with the sweet taste of nova particles
in the stream at my feet.

And with the edges of soup toureens we scouped our breath back
from the delinquance of hunger's artificial math.
We enjoyed the ones we loved
beneath tiny mountains and mountainous leafs.

With windows drawn across the shore of our beach
we ate strawberries soaked in cognac and brushed
with sugar's speech. We closed the doors forever
when the police sirens screamed. The fascist
lore fell off the cliffs of the sea into perdition
when the answers to their tests turned red and
didn't change back. I saw your features curve
in Renaissance colors that day on our beach.
I saw your curves sway with the waves as I
listened to the melody of your speech. That
was the day I decided that I wanted to meet
your sweet age across the glories of the shore.