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,  
 you sink into 
 the warmth 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.