al yen | Galateo (sonnet)On January 9, 2022 by local dreamer
let’s put away our mundane skins and masks.
unsmooth me from refine and public law
as if i were a mere piece of stone
you saw the art within. despite crevasse,
my shapes and lines feel flawless under mass
of peak devotion oozing from your bone.
we’ll wage a battle, letting rawness roar
through fevered skin, magmatic spew, and trass.
commotion’s over. sacred is the rite
of greeting death in bodies slit in halves.
i’ve seen no tunnel ends: i’m blind from light
that burns my chest and pumps into my valves.
your touch is force to bring dead things to life.
i heed my senses. i am born in love.