Viamund the Rake

APOCALYPTIC BOY

It is my state of singularity that drives me,

harbinger of skeletons

that crowns my wasted passion.

Screaming from inside my mind

a yearning I cannot but wonder if you feel.

The accursed blessedness of yearning

the crux of all desire.

Embers of my exalted love grow dim

to rekindle at a glance

from your comely face.

Apocalyptic boy.

You are my deliverer from Hell’s torment,

my Golgotha, my love, I adore you.

Sharp-glanced, yielding angel of passion.

Lithe-limbed, black-crowned ice flower.

Delicate featured, ever-laughing

instigator of babbling brooks.

Gazelle-eyed, barefoot wanderer of my dreams.

Apocalyptic boy… moist my dry.

Your groin is life, let me live.

Apocalyptic boy I see myself,

where are you?

STAR-BOY

My Star-boy,

the brightness within you

clashes against the midnight sky.

Look away from my darting glances.

A beloved, passing season is your love,

so frail as a rare, blooming orchid

concealed by a dense rain forest

gleefully found.

Your sweet, forbidden nectar

hidden down deep crevices,

my tongue longs to explore.

Pay no mind

to the chaos that surrounds you,

that din those asteroids make.

You are a moment frozen in time

desired to be shared by all those

who know you for what you truly are.

My Star-boy.