My hand passed through yours,
the cold felt like an arrow between the ribs.
I laid their on the stone
in the death grip of your lips.
I watched the stars explode,
the pieces raining down on me.
Your soul extinguished like flame
the smoke tendrils snaking up the scree.
It curled in the air, obscuring my vision -
I could see nothing of the time passing over me.
Moss grew up and over blanketing my body
you were on my mind in the clockwork of eternity;
the wheels and cogs kept spinning around
pushing blood within my veins
even as my skin dried up, curled and shrunk away.
And still you reside within the sandstone of my face.
Forever marred and marked by the sigils of this place
the magic reigning down into us from beyond
the furthest reaches out in space.
A place called the between, a dimension without sound
but all of this is heard through the vibrations in the ground.
YOU ARE READING
She, Infinity
PoetryI mean to place sight within the constraints of sound and drive it into the bed rock, the foundation of feeling, literally rather than metaphorically.
