GNO-DEATH DO US PART

more... than just a
fall away of flesh...

more than just the
the unraveling

of the enmesh of breath
the flood of blood... and tendons

the rot of skin... of we beneath them...
not just an epidermal bag of bones

we so much more than just the
known scent of ripened flowers and
heightened thick of pheromones...

we the bleed of these intentions
it is the disembodied we... that be

the emboldened pen point of the power
of our love...

these... intones
of persona that someday will become but
disemboweled entrails...

our guts spilled upon a page...
that are the mysteries of what the wise deem the
entreat of these... holy entries that but seem to be.

the degrees of these
master stories in these makings
of we... an oracular and spectacular work of art.

a place where you and I can find
a space... to chart a state of mind

one that is named for and famed for the framed part
of our world of words... we a word called yours and mine.

a lyric divine that with the perfected preposition
of an appearance of verse and rhyme
that silently begins its work

then it bursts with each cursive stroke and
proceeds to the reach of each
fine line inside of it... that ends and starts.

even when all of life is at the lowest of
parts of them... the markings of the
flood of lovely color tones is

a universally staged vibration... a
positioned station of etched stone that shall
inevitably die some day and is fated to fade.

but not so for you and I!
for we not to be

so able to raise so high can be
so easily taken and laid so low.

so low to the lowest known
denominator...

from out births
we knew our worth
we are art and art earthed...

knowledge and wisdom perched
eternally between these years

and these ears that although
now on loan... it seems we own.

to the slowest groans of spirit
that the bell of death

in fear can toll... yet we alone...
together... will still... be able to hear it.

such is the door of our ardor!
yet it cannot
truly call for the depart of
twin flames souls.

heaven and earth shall pass
before us... for these arms of us are charmed

with the lust
of an enchanted embrace.

there will be a place for us
forever recreated and
reanimated in the

maintain of the memory
and of our shape.

and even when we descend
and are considered nothing

by all others... we are more than
something of such a passing hour
as are our past lived lives together...

yea...we are the gather of them
and though today we stay
in the waste-bin
of dust and bones...

still we will rejoice tomorrow
for we shall dance in the

borrowed shadows of light
to live in once again...perchance to love.

Pantherion Prime from PRIME Scribes © 2013