An Ode to Muses to Melpomene

Lucine

Neither of us wants to be saved.

I decorate the Grim Reaper with kisses,

As he wakes me from life's lullaby.

I join him when God parts with the heavens,

As his tears drown me to sleep.

He bestows upon me solemn rain,

When the day burns me with simplicity.

As eclipses shadow the Holy Sunday,

I commit adultery in its shade,

With the empty vacuum of space.

I close these blinds from the dawn

And ignite them with not yellow, but violet stars.

Now, I live in a twilight trance.

No longer do I kiss my masked mistress,

Or sprinkle sorrow over my protector.

I don't crave the absolute,

The Yin and Yang of consumption.

It's dark enough for me to reflect the glow of the night's pearl,

Not shield myself from the sight of perfection,

In the blindness of the sun.

The moon disrobes herself in the visions of a telescope,

As astronomers fail to capture her contours

And astrologers call her a goddess.

Her body orbits with craters

And indentations left by man.

Footsteps lead to the flag that no longer waves,

As she spells her name out in the sand.

I travel to Mars,

Step away from the Alcatraz that is Earth,

And admire what I call my Monet.

Candles are left to stiffen under the storm,

As you write by lamp lighting,

And the gleam of her flawed celestial body.

You prefer the world without luminescent screams

And bury your body without colors.

This time, touch adopts a new meaning.

As you speak to my closed eyelids,

The lyrics of your soul pour into angel-bound pages

And ink stains my final resting place.

I observe the world weep without solar intrusions.

Lunar distortions abuse their tide,

As her gravity steals the candy of the reversed sea.

I lay nude.

Yet, am fully clothed.

Hunger escapes me,

As I lack the appetite for the lust of life.

Never have I worn myself inside out,

So, I climb into the pockets of your fantasies,

Cover you with clouds above springs and bark,

And tell you to bake bread between our chests.

21 orbits ago, there was a meteor shower of gilded arrows,

When the creator turned his back,

Jealous of their blue light.

As life, death, and the moon engage in a threesome,

I ask you to choke me.

Death envies the boundaries between two dimensions

And is angered that you refuse to turn me blue.

Now appearing as a cardinal,

Acid showers his zenith,

As toxins roll off his rotting feathers.

Teach me what it means to be fertile in the absence of pain.

Tap your rings against mine to the beat of cracked thunder,

As lightning bolts connect your silver bands,

Electrocuting me with little deaths.

I'll lean over the balcony view of this orchestra

Because you play my body like a piano,

Practicing, until callus forms over your fingers.

Treat me to an encore with no symphony,

Listen to my music with no instruments.