Sanctuary

Your mood is the language in which your body speaks to mine.

Your heart is a perfect unblemished stone, beating in the cavern of its syncopated isolation.

I beg hardly more of you than to scrabble forever along the jagged cliffs of your emotions.

To bathe myself, palpably defenseless and exposed, in the frosty moonlight of your acrid, acid, smiles.

Stripped beyond the marrow of the bone, to the naked manifest purity of the white hot ashes of my tattered and tortured soul.

For YOU, my deceased and decomposing treasure; are the baleful, gleaming glance of the scaly-faced Basilisk.

Residing in the shadows of the saguaro cactus, in my windswept desert rock garden.

                                !GIVE ME SANCTUARY!