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Make my matters clear to me. Petal up to my scarred face, where the incensed lifting of the tide marred my soft temperament. Where the mechanics of my felicity once writhed in blood grape agony. Where two falcons perched over my shoulders, dug their claws into my sinking skin, as the hunger of humanity put ulcers in my entrail. Look up at me as you do, when you do. My rain will fertilize this darkness, as the dream of you roars tapestries into the sand dredging pathways for my swelter to find you. We will watch for growth in every shattering second of our evermore.
Our life, this kingdom, this journey of ours will rob all artists now and in the future of their ability to create. Their fountain will be frozen, impotent as even energy has its limits. As we lift landscapes we will silver the vicissitudes of May’s bleeding breasts. Our love’s web will be spun in the orbits of our intimacy. I will forever drink from your ambrosia. Even when sunsets snow blood over these hollow structures. Even when candles are extinguished by matches. I refuse to let go. Our paradise was what the Big Bang dreamed of.
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I am a Vancouver local seeking to expand my social circle with passionate people who think outside of the box and seek authenticity in their every gesture. I am a Serious Man, dominant by nature. I am looking to uncover the beauty of souls. To me that which is erotic, is poetic.
What is a poet? An unhappy person who conceals profound anguish in his heart but whose lips are so formed that as sighs and cries pass over them they sound like beautiful music.
-Soren Kierkegaard
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