Creative Writing, Venue

On The Fabric of the Human Body

I hear it whispered over cadavers,

Declared in lecture halls:

Our bodies are architecture,

Our lives but short-lived squalls.

Our genes mere family heirlooms,

Or chromosomal spelling errors.

Your skin, so tender and sweet,

Mere defence against infectious terrors.

Your almond eyes – as still as morning mist –

Just photon chaos tamed by a warped lens.

Your lips curled in pure ecstasy,

An orchestra of muscles tensed.

Memories live in primordial circuits,

Your thoughts are unseen sparks,

Your dreams pulsating matter,

Love never lived in the heart.

O, love!

Cast off this mortal frame,

Fated to wizen, crack, and fail.

Let our souls dance in the ether

In a place beyond the pale.

Bid farewell to your flesh,

Leave your limbs in the dead of night,

For there is far more to savour

When you fear not the dying of the light.

If what I propose wreaks fear,

If your interests lie elsewhere,

Do not expect me to wait –

I’ll be communing with the air.


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