The Goddess

We conceive through the eye,

the details in the parchment,

suggesting  a vestibule of love for creation

 

The God sucks besides spaces, roses,

The God blows besides wheel, the whistles,

of love in a deep guttural sense of destruction

 

I am the morbid case of heaven,

where idles the earth in the summer,

and spends spleen of generation in winter

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s