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.