Sleeping places, and things

Did you get the call?
the Invitations
are sent
Yet the gods keep crying

Torrents
of water         upscade

We can return it,
as I slide
the sharp needles
in
transfixing
her in a rictus
of Desire

Shall I open the gates,
the barn door?
(was there ever a barn door?)

Roll across
a bed of coals
walk the fires
infernal
of the mind

Those who enter the portals
eternal charge,
slowly coalescing
the stars into
His personal hell

and the beds are of
rose petals