HARVEST AT DAWN (enter fertility)

Everything around me shrinks and expands Memories compacted Fantasies extracted Suspend me from the floor and push the ceiling nearer This is just a reenactment of the thoughts projected from your eyes The faces and names are not real Only the tears, blood and glass are authentic We link hands and dreams to become the map of the damned Found a wound across my ribs, soft and fresh as a ballet shoe, to finger and feed Memories flaccid Fantasies reenacted Finger and feed Finger and feed