assassins and sword

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...outside of her scent --

deep circles were grinding
the sharp distances
of her name
while the skies plunged
into the felt tip markers
painting her fingers and colours
along the spinal descent

of our maps:

partions once erected
from the source and from the
codes
that she held like middle dust
falls upon the immense literature
disguised as reluctant facts

before she uttered
the final sage sitting
before her intent ......

directions now taking us
faster into
her subtle heights:
i am burning inside of
her corridors -
holding her down against
the binding threads
holding her down against
the fasting waters
holding her down against
the dying worlds

that we are led to
consume

outside of her discretion
for the black maths
and the arts of her distaste
smearing her breath
against the smudged heat
of our un-broken glass

as her legs -
the waiting eagle:
rises into the dove
wounded by the badge
shaped inside
the hearth and the ruins

that no longer will divide.......


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