Lack of Consciousness

Give me a taste of the stardust you hold close.

If you let me, I’ll collect the syrupy light that pours from cracks in your porcelain skin

I wish to know how clouds look in your eyes. 

Run down to The River of Space 

where The Tree grows along silky waters.

Which fruit will you pluck from the weathered branches of time?

The white cloth swirls beneath your flying feet and eager hands.

Perhaps the soothing aroma of Venus will draw you in. 

No no,

your eyes search for what they cannot find. 

Earth has long since rotted.

Its presence no longer burdens us.

But there are many others to choose from. 

As long as you watch for thorns my love.

A pinprick of blood

the soundless cries of your pain echo around The Nothing. 

On the bank, lies your limp figure.

A crimson concoction pours forth from you

and thin grains of sour sand sift under your limbs.

The discarded fruit of Pluto lies forgotten in the dark

your fingertips stained blue by its sweet insides.

I watch in frenzied, manic agony 

as you slip through the never present ground.

Return to me my dear.

Dip your arms into the swirling space once again.

Let the lack of reality flow through your veins. 

but watch for jagged edges of clarity.

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