Phantastical

leaves at the spindle
embers prick pulsing neck
smoke soaked hair sewn to silk
hand stitched to your shoulders

and you in your bloody apron
killing fresh on your palms
hacking and thrashing
hiding and lying in my arms

mythril music swelling to your head
pressing eyelids tight against white
warm and sealing the dying climax
beneath the linen curtains.

life never seems as real
as the thoughts in your head
It is "us" and "they" are just
stranger's repeating time.

reality makes a slow revolve
around your fantasy,
occipital, parietal, frontal
again
caressing the God out of it

love still pulsing through your blood ached vessel
grey seeping in, pushing back
letting in
rocking and fading, they're waiting.

caught with my hands
cupping the knife
plunging and ripping
our phantasmal life.

where teatime is high mass
and spider webs spin legends
where green sunsets reflect in violet seas
and ginger sleeps with coriander

Here, where your songs leave scents on my sheets.