ARMAGEDDON
WHY DO YOU WEEP WHEN
YOU SEE HER, APHRODITE?
is it the fissures in her porcelain skin forming cataclysmic constellations and galaxies that threaten to collapse?
is it the nebulas under her eyes that burgeon in astral shades of vermillion and mauve?
or perhaps the gibbous azure veins bulging with stardust and moonrust torrents that scorch, scorch, scorch her from the inside?
WHY ARE YOU SO ASTRINGENT
WHEN YOU SEE HER, APHRODITE?
she is far more beautiful than you (POOR, POOR, APHRODITE), perhaps that is why; in her ears dwell the spectres of forsaken promises — eulogies for what once could have been.
she is far more beautiful than you (POOR, POOR, APHRODITE), even in her crumpled form, with lips of blood and phantom skin.
WHY DO YOU FEAR WHEN
YOU SEE HER, APHRODITE?
no words elude her lips, only her eyes speak — large, hurricane eyes that wail, wail, wail.
(IS THAT WHY YOU FEAR HER, APHRODITE?)
when the scintillas begin to pulse in the fissures of her skin, when her hair becomes wonderfully electric with life, when the whispers in her ears begin to shriek, shriek, shriek and the terrors of the night begin to creep, creep, creep.
WHY DO YOU WEEP WHEN YOU
SEE ARMAGEDDON, APHRODITE?
YOU ARE READING
Mesmeric Youth ✓
PoetryI kiss your eyes so you will recognise me 2016, adriana © (p #48 - 140117)
