Where I am, memory
        is not. Where love 
        is I am not. Where
        I am not, there is
          memory. 
In passing by, a casual touch,
and the subversive force of love
displaces my being.

Room of red roses.

The demiurge's gaze transfixes
me, demands the text of bygone
days, in exchange. 
I hereby give thou, unmerciful demiurge, the text
of bygone days, its story, its plot. I sacrifice on
the altar of creation the story about the woman
with many names, about the woman with a split
face, about the woman with different masks; I
sacrifice the story about she who once was, but no
longer is.

I give her to thee to feast on; I give thee this
woman of the past, who sponges on my body,
who has riveted herself to my shadow; I give her
to thee to feast on.

Thou, unmerciful demiurge, opens the gate to the
earth's interior and drinks her blood, greedily
desiring. Thou folds the sacrificed body in thee
arms, and devours it. The earth closes again. Once
more satisfied.

Greed fulfilled. The hellish alchemical fire
nourished, gives thou back what thee has
devoured. Body moulded charred, returns in
slings of fire. 
I tremble in my desire. You
penetrate my inner room. I 
gasp as your head 
touches the cradle of love, 
and strikes the chord that is 
the end beginning of my 
being in the world.

                                 You hold
my life in your arms, tasting
           my nakedness carefully
at the edge of Paradise, your body starts, and 
you throw yourselves into
           the heat of the rut.
We make love. Nakedly
and relentlessly, safely
anchored in our hot, moist 
                        bodies. 
You shine in the lamp's shattered light,
falling over your glowing body.
I see you. I see you 
in your beauty, in your perfection. I 
know you see mine, as you
reach for the light of 
my eyes and catch
the flickering flame of eternity in 
the palm of your hand, carrying it
with you, inside, concealed
for the eye, but unveiled in the rhythm
of your love-making.

            You see me. You see me
leave myself and come
towards you, as I lose myself 
in the inexorable force 
where you are,
neither man nor woman; weave of 
upper and lower-case letters; 
body of translucent 
signs 
           follows its own 
logic, and finds its form.