Merry, you may be.
For I am the flesh in your tounge.
Create to yourself, images of these
expose to me, your skin -
whorish as ever.
They speak to me, your pores, your veins,
in a rush of melancholy.
In a stream of
Remove the carpet, so I may be
united with the shades of these.
Blind my eyes,
still I will see -
I grant you my pale hands,
still I will feel - shape, contoures.
In me you wont find
as the dog that howls for the light in my eyes -
the stench or your nakedness, no smell for a mourner like me.
In here you wont find any pity.
Tour kisses were as hell itself.
Be silent, for I am the flesh in your
Only I can wear vast costumes of time, and still be present.
"So, hereby I rape thee."