You walk through gardens where I have never stepped,
In silks untouched by my shoulder.
You are the love I crucified in thought,
With a bitter, glassy, invisible sword.
You drink white peace, locked in crystal,
Turning pages of a tome I will not open.
Your paths are bloodless, steel-hard, and distant,
Where you nurture a glacial chill.
How beautiful you are – she who never was!
Majestic in this lethargic paradise…
Soul and flesh never truly merged –
In the seam of the rupture, I, alive, remain.
Two fictions. Frozen in the twilight,
On the edge of blades, between dead pages.
We ran along spirals to the point of madness,
Fearing to take this final step.
I accept the void – exquisite and sharp,
Silvery frost upon your lips.
You are the ideal. My phantom sister,
You are my desired and majestic ruin.
Lethargic Paradise
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