Friday, 22 November 2013

Πενθεσίλεια ΙΙ - Penthesilea II

Τhe flesh is a trophy in your hands.
Naked from a mask, naked like a breath
in the penumbra of life's end
in the penumbra of death's entrance.
I respect the untamed of your love
and I yield to your heel's lust
licking up weaknesses.
Because you are tangy in battle
but raw in love.
My eye's popped out
but my breast is in place,
perforate, upright,
ready to put down in a carnivorous earth.
I can not see you,
but I can still feed you.
What is love leaned on an agonizing body?
A fight against finite?
An anguish on its behalf?
This moment I can fit neither in life nor death.
The only place of adoration is in your arms
while disrupting its garments
to win a little more time
with my cells degeneration.
I forgive you for revealing my mortality.
Hands dirty from the blood
hands cleansed from the heat of the battle.
Dead or disjointed only then you can love me?
The arrows of love are spears of death
because you never confessed your faith in lust.
You know, times give no absolution.
I 've just managed to fit in the throne,
and as I widened I fell in the world of mortals
kneeling more and more to the crack of your sole,
and then wherever you stepped I got in.

Aglaia Milia

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