Coloured Flesh

Certain truths,
are revealed in their time,
by creeping doubts,
that flit across my eyes,
creeping,
across,
as i lay sleeping,
in a sepulcher,
sweet like ice in a cotton candy machine.

I was once a 'Me',
but now Im a "who",
encased in fury,
parodoxically true,
maddeningly bright,
in my world of dark,
waiting for quiet to turn to silence,
heark,
for that loud loud spark,
calls like a color,
I once saw in a painting,
fainting,
into the arms of White,
bland and beautiful.

I'm sick of silent canvases,
of calling colours,
and sleeping gods,
Give me the Nymph!
I call the Nymph!
Not those whisperers i had before,
the easy girls,
the whores,
I want one being to delight my soul,
and the rest,
delegated to cock duty,
One perfect toy,
ruling over my harem of mindless slabs of beautiful flesh.
Coloured flesh