The Channel that Shakes

            I surrender loudly to the channel that shakes wildly in front of me. Open up to the doorways of the gothic icons, these Mary’s of saints and brethren keep spinning and turning till their minds are swirling in the dark as they curse the night, live up to the worlds above and below your energies- shift them into forces of shields and mirrors.

We rise from the covers, the curtains and veils, the see through blouses and black bras under yellow shirts. We glimpse through each other’s eyes and know that we are indeed connected, two birds sitting on a mousetrap- naked we blend in our space and create a time travel of our own.

The phantom marches on and you feel as if half of you is radiating light and the other an optical illusion or the truth found in a solemn moment. Gasp into me and we shall reconvene here and re-frustrate our potions, poisons, positions, parentheses. We lost our faiths and flaws while we were running through the muck and the mud, moshing it out like a renegade star shooting out of a black hole.

We recover our throats dry, our teeth ache and our limbs bruised and beaten. No matter the conditions outside, fuel on and the wind will never fail you. Dragons can keep their tongues shut for now, coming forth is the queen through and mirth she lay in golden surround-sound, lovely.