Iris (And The Burning Aureole)

Oh, how much I love your eyes

I'm waving like moonbeams on a nightside

sea

whenever, wherever mine crosses yours so

amenable I do feel, until I myself I hide

behind the sand-dunes on the shore of the

absorbent sandcastles.

Broken into shivers, memories still haunt me.

The knight in golden armour turns into

millions of vacant sinus ; inner sickles

trying to find a way out of the flesh, the

planted one with memorable experiences,

tassels in white faces...

Iris is a sine qua non for us indeed, though,

absolute darkness reminds me of the age of

ignorance. But, now as I recall all those

I've seen so far through this burning blood

red veil "oh, it makes me soften,

I realize how terrific it'd be to sojourn two

thousand years with you ; your inept

dreams...my cerebral mansion".

I'm a creature of terra firma ; as an urn I

hold and kiss the ashes of my dying race ; as

I grow up, Iris grows too, but, how can I

speak to the dry ground about the wet saliva

of my eyes ?

Wisdom's cavern stands far from oceans,

that's for sure my dear.

Here I feel the crucial crux of all our

dilemas, all those things won't ever

touch our flesh, let them go, let them fade

behind, let them stare at the Iris' narcotic

sight while the flaming aureole will offers

us pleasure ; the pleasure an infant gets

along with its mother's white, fluid bribe.