I remember the eyes of this madman, fraught with a hunger and longing to belong. Within the clan, he found no solace that he could hold onto for long. It was in the embrace of the effervescent that marked the temple of Solomon.
the King of kings lay to rest there. And I a witness to the creed, came upon it laughing in disbelief. I yearn to piece together the fragments of memory. For every soul I meet in these deserts now was once a brother or a mother from another life.
But my lovers are of another breed...
and the aching memory of churning flesh unto flesh, as it melds into something else with heat... this is felt once more in a glance. I do not know what to do with this burning feeling that consumes. I write and I write now as a way to cope.
When memories return, they return with tears. And if the eyes do not weep, then blood runs deep and burns. The eyes bear a fire that consume whomever beholds.
How can one endure such radiance, such intimacy in the busy market?
I see you but cannot approach.
Even though the memories haunt all the more. You see me and bear in your gaze all the loss you felt for a thousand lifetimes before and hereafter.
Do not reach for me, for there are constraints in societal hypocrisy. They are there to set order to chaos. And that which cannot be described by you or I... sets it up to crumble into chaos. I have been here before, with you, in a familiar story. And need to write it down, to remember again the way it unfolded in our memory.
We were in the deserts there too, but of the east. Forever it seems we meet in these dried up sea beds, where flowers are too thorny to touch, and the life that thrives here is hostile in nature. Only the serpents and scorpions here thrive in such enduring heat. And I lament for what is cross bound when in these plains two souls do meet.