FLEURIE

Dying Spirits become born again
In the tube of bath
By Them embraced
Me, lying
Drying the goblet’s edge
Touching aromas of brains
Prolific as such
Snatched – I paint them conscious
Matched - I lock in the drawer
Touched – I forget them living
And underneath my tongue
Feast of the Beast still lingers
The Inner Worlds
Ruled by their own laws
Savage structures greedily breathing
Wines bleed lips
Claret-dyed blood dribbles thick
Dragon squats upon my wrist…