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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required The Heaven of My Existence in the Present Moment Now is the heaven of my existence—the moment that contains eternity, our flesh clothed in vintage champagne of transcendent desire— we feast on blood-red strawberries of sin that is no longer sin, their ripe nectar overflows, drips over the edges of consciousness that waits. Our insatiable desire we entrust to the unconscious that sleeps awake, you rob me of my mastery—the last wall that holds me whole and broken— you travel through every crack of my being, through every grain of sand, you undress my refrain, you peel me without feeling until I become ripe and bitter fruit. Naked as we are—our nakedness is the heaviest garment, use all my fingers like keys that open invisible gates— my tongue to its tip becomes a pilgrimage around you, a round trip, your sensation persists on my skin like a memory that never fades alive. In the coolness of our crescendo—the heat that freezes the soul, at the peak of our faint lost in the transport of spiritual communion— dressed cleanly in your stain, willing prisoner of your magnetic force, let me see no more days or ever feel a ray of sunshine. Now is the heaven of my existence—the moment that contains death and birth, the vintage champagne of desire covers our flesh like an old forgotten ritual— the red strawberries of sin pour their nectar over the edges of the known world, and our insatiable desire becomes the prayer we entrust to the void. You rob me of my last mastery—the last thread that binds me to myself, you travel through the cracks of my being like an explorer through burned maps— you undress the refrain of my soul, you peel me mercilessly until I become pure essence, naked as we are, our nakedness becomes the total transparency of being. My fingers are instruments that play the symphony of your invisible body, my tongue to its tip becomes the path that makes a round trip through your universe— your sensation persists like a seal burned into the skin of my eternal memory, in the coolness of our crescendo where the faint becomes final illumination. At the peak of our communion lost in the transport of mystical ecstasy, dressed in your stain as in a sacred garment of divine communion— willing prisoner of your force that holds me captive and free at once, let me see no more days, feel no ray outside of you. Now is the heaven of my existence—the supreme paradox of the present moment, where death and life meet in the red strawberries of sin and grace— the vintage champagne of desire dresses us naked in the heaviest and lightest garment, and we entrust to the unconscious our insatiable desire to disappear. Robbed of mastery, peeled without feeling, naked and dressed in your stain, I travel through the cracks of my being with your fingers like keys— my tongue makes pilgrimage, your sensation persists like an eternal seal, in the coolness of the crescendo where the faint becomes illumination—the heaven of my existence.
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