The Moor In My Mind

The sound of trickling rain drops in my ears A vision of the embodiment of purity Through static noises and softness, she caresses And my impurity looks at her while she undresses With scattered mire beneath her skin An infinite moor of adulation resides within her It is her, breathing in the hidden hallway of my mind Her Marlboro breath punctures my pores She tastes like the blotches on the moon Smoking individuality down to the filter She leaves no growth for creativity Her artfully painted fingernails scratch Against the face of the ghost standing next to her Does she see him? Slowly twirling her hair? Or is it my eyes that are being spun? A sudden urge to be that ghost emerges Somehow she notices this impure desire So she reaches out to gently touch my face And to our disbelief, her hand goes right through me! She sinks painfully down on the earth below her Something tells me I know her, but have lost her name In the magma of my own dream With vermilion lips, her mouth begins to confess And I listen to her whisper impure gestures at me Her embodiment decays rapidly into static The sound of rain stopping wakes me into a bitter confusion Who was she and why was she here? Was it to tease me into believing in her? To trick my own mind into longing for love? I search the moor in my mind every night But she is never there…