Night on thoughtful plains finds an echo in the art of time

As the blackness of night comes, I calmly watch myself be erased, the
only evidence being continuous throbbing— dreaming peonies, I hear
them gathering, the world slows and just like that we are plunged into
nothingness.

A lawless region such as this is hard to let go of, soft and damp, yet my
fingers come away dry. Only mouths are we. Who sings the distant heart
which safely exists in the center of all things? I hunger for the light and
other aegean familiarities. When feeling enters into our bodies, it turns
into a fiery substance, a language that coruscates through and through;
and we are left clinging on until the shivery end.

It jumps from me to you, before we even touch, cornsilk conviction that
erupts. A celestial being that resides in the clouds, He’s given us a cup
from which we drink.

 

 

 

 

Photo credits: ‘Apparition of face and fruit dish,’ by Salvador Dali

Join me as I host Prosery Monday at dVerse and ask others towrite inspired by a line from “Heartbeat,” by Rainer Maria Rilke.

Posted for Prosery: Here’s the thing about existing @ dVerse Pub