I am become Wolf

Image care of Photobucket; I hold no rights to it.

I fell in Burgundy,

the color of her Convictions

tasted of Hopes and vaunted little riding hood–

allures that Gripped,

teased me past the bounds of Reason,

tempted to the sweetest Treason,

Body’s Elation

is my Soul’s Damnation,

gripped as we are in Sensory Salvation–

in D Minor–

rings Red the stacatto of our Destruction,

as Beings, set among the fog and sand–

we are Drifting.

I am become the Wolf, less man,

together craft the scarlet trails of Unmaking–

you Sing for me,

but these Hands are not my hands,

they Touch you, and I do not Know my name.

All I taste is Salt

I twist

Like paper on the wind;

The earth batters me

And I dip down, down

Into the crystal nothing—

No sky above,

No earth below—

Pressure building

Strangling the life

From hearth and home—

No warmth

Down below the waves,

My tumult silent

In the swallowing mass

That caresses all the hearing

From my mind.

All I taste

Is salt.