Please do not panic dear,
there are no gods to judge us;
I promise no vengeful spirits will curse our lives,
no wrathful Zeus will chain us to mountains
nor will a sadistic Satan toy with our burning flesh.
The only ghosts that haunt these halls
are time’s slipping and heat’s escaping.
So place aside your mortal doubts,
toss them into your trash-bin of sin;
Pascal’s Wager forgot
I only have a fraction of eternity to enjoy you.
Besides, your illuminating brilliance
made the light of Ra obsolete.
Your gentle touch calms my heart
far beyond Buddha’s enlightened peace.
Your lap is softer to sleep upon
than the cosmic waters of Vishnu.
And why would I need crosses to fill my walls
when they already overflow with your photos?
So take my hand darling,
and we’ll tango to the edge of the human mind
until we’re as tangled as the theologians and philosophers.
Then lips will scour the holy text inscribed on your body
and hands will wander up your golden escalator to the shining gates,
the only heaven I know,
so that we may dissolve into the vacuum in ecstasy.
To fade away with you would be simply divine
.
.
.
Please,
ignore my poetic nonsense.
I tend to get lost in my experiments
to weave a magic emulator out of hyperbole.
The universe is in an ever-expansive decay
and I just want to hold you close.
I want to know how your day was
before the plaques and clots and atrophy
and all the other phenomena running toward us
take shape in our minds.
I hope it was good,
I hope it was worth it.