Reproductions of the Body

There is no pain that is unaccompanied by light blinding or translucent like seeing the sun through a flame or another's petite morte as you climax, and heap in rubbled bodies, others cast in panoptic stone by the suffocating beauty of the soldiered rose-blossoms. They cry, cry out in ineffable joy at the sky or lips fall heavy to the dust as they climax, and entwined in fervent bodies we all come to know what makes us bare another sadness swaddled in marble arms.