not end times but the end of darkness when eyeballs burst into ultraviolet flooding the world with a vision of luminance and iridescence
the grim city exhales like a violent beast that has spent its last breath
mist clings to skin gentle as a promise of shape without boundaries
the cold of dawn consents to the softening of limbs
a gentle and final word guides the falling feather to a bed of moss
the autumn tide brings memory of warm and dark bodies in carnal debauchery
in the shadows the hunter watches the rustling of autumn leaves a ritual without language
calm and unhurried the weaver god floats down from the autumn moon on a silver strand
quiet the dwelling as bodies bare begin a ritual of belonging
skin is the script i choose to read from as touch ripples across the flesh
elancharan gunasekaran 