I mitt eget Rovarnaste

Come, my dear. Come, cry for me.
Weep your heart dry
as I sit here.
Papers white and graphite faded,
rough and ragged
from my mind.
Tearing pages from my mindbook,
never happy,
ceaseless wasting.
Open wounds along the edges.
Blunted pencils,
sweet serrations.
Rooms are quiet, full of people,
comfy chairs
amongst the corner.
Rest my head on itchy fabrics.
Radiators
cold and hostile.
I mitt eget rövarnäste
ska Herr Olof
stå å lyssna
like no man had ever listened.
Here I sit and
watch the sky.
Planes in pockets, ever flightless,
plummet down and
shame their maker.
Guide me, O Thou great Confuser,
pilgrim to my
Christian lover.
Heathen lusts do fail to saunter,
Heaven frowns on
holied squander,
crystal sheets and shining setbacks.
Stop, my dear, and
hold me close.

Darkened nights behind Venetians,
beds made cold by
empty spaces
sit and wonder, covered up by
broken dreams
and well-clad lovers.
Tangled hearts and smiling faces
lustre thee and
leave me breathless,
silenced like a thund'rous falling.
Sharpened feelings,
sweet serrations.
Bittered hope shall leave in searching.
Soured dreams a-
mount to nothing.
Warmth progresses, time forgetful
whisks away my
stranded maiden.
Minds are raving without notice,
flagging faces
all the same now.
Never spoken words desire
all my love to
give to you.

Glass does part my eyes from nature
as the rain comes
down a-falling.
Watching, now, I turn my hand out,
feeling nothing
lest I like it.
Take me up and leave me later,
after acts of
untold beauty.
Once our hearts are made to shiver
'twixt our bodies
squeeze the air

Plastic bells upon the union
ring out softly
and with grandeur
over hills of greatest texture.
May it sonour
long and loathesome.
"Glory, God, my noble servant,
who for me has
fast provided
love and lust, I thank you dearly
from my heart" the
wall has spoken.
"Love me more" my wall continues,
"God, He does as
I command Him".
Over streets, my hand still empty,
only pencils,
cold and lowly
comfort me and soothe my crying.
Hold me close, my
world surrendered,
ever lacking vital comfort.
Where's my darling?
Where's my dear?

Walls are plain but to them speak I,
screaming blue my
heart does render
silent. Oh! for beauty maidens
searching. Raptures
deep distress me.
Bring me silence, stillness holy
under sheets of
practised pretense.
Hold me dear. It's sweetly cleansing
in a world where
filth still watches
over us, its glory broken
only by such
stainèd fashions.
Sacred thoughts, true alternation
only carries
out our actions
after prompting. Hence we ask through
veiled requests that
mask desires.
Should one live upon his promise?
Full-gone measures where I sit.

Softened sheets lie crisp and viscious
under us, their
white reflecting
innocence, that both so purely
cling onto. Such
fine debauchery
has no place in all politeness.
Close the doors, lock
out the judgers.
Here we are. And so the plastic
sonorates to
cleanse our souls.

Aftermath. Still warmth inside her,
not the frozen
soul that often
overcomes such faultless beauty.
In and out di-
vine and perfect
as I see. Oh! lights are shining
down. Not right or
real or truthful.
Mist does fall. My mind excells in
ignorance yet
newly wakened
up by oh such splendid glory.
Bring her beauty
fast towards me.
Oh! continue forcing forward
breaths. Once more is
beauty shining.
Hark, said beauty, apparitions
dreamily do
quech the thirsty.
"Beauty's never lied to me, my
darling" pointed
out the wall.

Celebrated silhouettes do
block the light that
stands sublimely
by the window. Structured coldly
'cross the vexing
cursèd river.
Here does come the dark Wisp's Will to
lead us to such
false desires.
False delights bestowèd truly
unto us, oh!
glaring beauty.
Here sit I, still dumbed and muted
in the eyes of
love so fair.

Never 'fore and never coming
shall a soul be
so besotten
by the wonders of another
as mine own is
by you now...