An endlessness breath
Each time, is as the first. Nebulous, I can not resist. Stirring, I can not do without. I have whimpered in whispers, “Will it be as the first and last...they both mastering me in our pleasure? Or, will I...needful, humble myself to it again and again? Lead me,” I sigh. “I will follow. I have no where else...to go. I hunger only for—black...”
I began by lifting my eyes toward emptiness... Darkness unfolds to caress my thoughts. My voice unheard reveals silence. Envelops my vision... black wreathing images which lean, stretching forth from within tall glassy contorted cylinders, where are tinged mere gestures, to initiate conception and there linger within.
Sight has no place in its hope to appease fear, which alters all nascency. I must walk, blind into the valley, to grope 'til reaching the bend where I will be struck by the sounding of color. Inspirited, moving velocity, sweeping across the strumming of my soul, I concede, seduced, swaying with pleasure as it strokes the fiery, 'til now black, unearthed tones from within me. I raise my arms as if in prayer. I am alive—thirsting and soon to be quenched that thirst when consumed by ghostly palette and knife. There is neither strength nor weakness in me nor it—as yielding is needful—unsheathing a copious repleteness. My lips now hunger.
Ah, sweet is the drink I taste, now... it spills deep within me. I am then filled once again of flourishing sebaceous words that form, anointing now the white virgin, the canvas, no longer blanketed by doubtful black shadows. I draw forth my arm and hand as harmless sword, to cut into the flesh of its cloth with gentle touch, as with brush to cleanse away my tears, for the encounter has ended to grace my open eyes and new vision... to paint. I am free, now. Let out into the open of endlessness to breathe out my being onto canvas, giving it life. My womb sighs... My breasts warm. I have succeeded the blackness on its threshold to behold its light, there within it. Come... Come you, whom wishes to gaze there. Fear not to see. For sight has no place in its hope to appease fear, which alters all nascency.