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Literature Text
Woman of the dark
I honor you with my heart
I swear to you
It's till death never does us part
Woman of the dark
please accept this lowly heart
I beseech you to love me
as I love you
Woman of the dark
I am not afraid of you
though I fear that you won't love me
will you embrace me?
Woman of the dark
What do you say?
Will you accept an happy yet dark matrimony?
and engulf this world with the darkness
I honor you with my heart
I swear to you
It's till death never does us part
Woman of the dark
please accept this lowly heart
I beseech you to love me
as I love you
Woman of the dark
I am not afraid of you
though I fear that you won't love me
will you embrace me?
Woman of the dark
What do you say?
Will you accept an happy yet dark matrimony?
and engulf this world with the darkness
Literature
UntitledSunset
Sunset wraps up the day in ribbons and bows
And we watch another page torn from the calendar of our lives.
Hearts measure time not of clocks, but anothe rythm,
More like surf, or the beating of wings.
With a cold wind in my face I think of
The beauty in loss, and the bitterness in gain.
I think,
Jasmine tea,
Don't you?
Literature
Fruitbat
A portrait is a flat mechanism.
In suit and tie or dress, some stooped
at the base of couches dragged into frame
and then left there, staring forward.
It does not matter who, the people in portraits belong
to the immaculate house of the past
where no one has ever lived
and the furniture is simple wood
propped up by a dowel or a sheaf of papers,
solid oak wrapped tight with gossamer thin cloth.
Even this is untrue, for the ones who know
about gossamer are now dead, stock set
in memories born still
for the things hinted in them had not happened.
The brown tinged wood was not illuminated
by a light cast outside the photograph,
swaying in a foye
Literature
waterproof
sea foam regrets
wash this lacerated heart
with saline baptisms
of undying love
(and etch their
wretched revelations
on mausoleum walls).
your ancient ruins
still stand undefeated
by impudent waves
(like overexposed
polaroids showcased in
empty exhibitions).
and it's futile
exorcising
my heart of
your remnants
(because all
graveyards need
ghosts to
haunt them).
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