Epistle Xxvi - Towards the Gates
(I)
Drops of
brine-laden fluid
spurt forth from
my brittle backbone,
meandering between
the cracks of your
coral adorned lips,
(II)
There, I find
myself ensconced
in an oyster
discombobulated
by the slow churn of
celestial metamorphosis,
wallowing in my fervent
longing to sprout from
Hades' jaws
as the Messianic pearl,
nestled in the dove's talons
as it soars above
modernity's ash heap
towards the gates of apotheosis
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