008: Soft tones / Fall

She's as beautiful as the world within me,
paralyzed I watched, overruling the disturbance of breathing.
Such pores echo the dunes of dried seas,
bleeding gold, speared through fumy clouds,
resound from granite spires to the gravity spine;
disconnecting, diving in acrylic caves,
twin lakes of ice would swallow me, a perfect end,
sublime stabbing joy in kingship of the blind.
It's where tongues are still - for names defile
and fragments of silence from the first dawn
shimmer among dewdrops, as comets trace auburn trails
tense tectonic fingers witness.
She's an icon of insomnia in a cathedral of sleep,
worshipped in masses of weary hours,
image engraved in timeless spheres of void,
wordless rapture in the garden of wrought iron roses,
in conduits of scarlet flow, a life alive,
the ever burning fire.