Light drips in wounds but no sorrow shows.

That means you are still

Dialogue I
Pain is the beginning of intimacy.
So you intent to be promiscuous?
Yes, I've made a bed of the entire world. The intimacy is the knowledge of the world,
Yours and self. My intentions are pure, to evade the horizont and nibble silence in my mouth
Hoping for a safe arrival.

In the rain the bells can be heard. Voice evaporates. Early mist unfurls, in between pourging and
intermittend slide of cars, a bird shyly strungs with a single note. Light falls freely, with all the gravity
of a white it can afford. Between half of those graves heath of greenery hands the path between the
pines. Rolling, the unduling wind touches me. When I breathe alone in this room, when I think, mere
consciousness demands you. I want your silence but I don't want the lust. The bloodstaining of desire
is fatal and futile. I want the messy one though, the uninterrupted stream of embrace I get when you
glance my way. See beyond this utterance. See beyond exactness, unto it and under it all. See me for
what I am, stop listening to the words because I cannot get outside this clarity that is, again, too weak,
to reserved, even if it flutters to be gripped away by what I get from you when you are near. Nearness
is with you a moment lapsing into what is a feeling of time; time as a being, moment as a being; not
immaculate nor moving. Blowing into the void. Transparency of us becomes and it impones.
I could yield to this and I want you to know I sense it now, when no sign is visible and no line embarks
security. It is wrong but I must tell you. I am yielding and there is nothing so suble, so well aligned, so
unquestionably rare as falling into one's absence, as if into presence. Mind makes you still, mind
shows you naked. Have your senses bared me, made me naked in your thought is out of my control,
not my interest. I could yield to the though, to the feeling, to sensing that you exist and that I gave you
the invocation to be present. Please, stay. Please rumble me, humble and yielding, please don't mess
with words but just continue to reverberate. It seems I am pleading you but I am pleasing my mind on
the rim of illusion, where deceit ends and pain begins. Some sweet flushing that is, you are never so
close to me. Continue, please. Else I will remain with something simultaneously choking me and
distancing me, ushering me not to speak of you ever again, until I die.

But what if tenderness meant to be away, deeply away

Unveiled and straight,
Disciple your future as it tangles you now, you are
beguiled and unconcerned, very humble in a shadow?

The lions are near. Touch exploits the reason, but they can smell your thought and you think
You will not eat me if the fear sucks me, dries me, eats me first.
Do you want control or do you want to live?
Their skin is adrift and wet.
When the night growls, administer The scent of blood to make the Man mad
Same taste is hovering upon the vein of river
Hands are acres of land falling into flacks.
Hailing dawn in a violet
Violent break.
The Lions are near and tire with waiting,
Youve dreamed, the love you seek is not here,
Open the cage and let it all be kissed apart by dawn
Kill the silver snake and sing when touching
, step outside with guts, drink the gulfed storm

Sun drips and falls blindly into this wound of absence.

Serenity is set afar, motionless sun straightened with humidiy.
Tension reserved for breathing.