I have never seen the roots of this lamenting tree. 

How they spread and penetrate, making the serene obscurity bleed. 

Once I wanted to lie down under his twinkling twigs and breezy leaves, 

and remember a naked self through time and rainy dreams. 

Clothless eyes, groundbreaking navel and a soul defining vagina, 

only these things, dancing and mocking beyond the radiation of this universe. 

But I didn’t. 

Instead I took a piece of his entity with me and drank hell lot of a whiskey that night. 

Pounding and scratching the surface of a breast less, sexless dead skin. 

A wolf, boiling in bloodthirst but benevolent in love and spirituality. 

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