Come, old friend
let us travel the tunnels again
and leave behind the nightmare trail
of our past.
Our doom time was not the midnight
but the creeping dawn when it tacked
its sickly citrine star to the sky.
What misfortune that night
when we tasted our own elixir —
a potent brew
from the black stove of purgatory.
Let us drink now to our last rave,
to the sinister concoction of that
Everything has turned to dust—
the glinting steel,
the cleaved light of the heart.
The burner dims
as Benjamin’s paper face turns to
“Hey up, hey up” at the entrance.
The voice still calls, tinny and
because it, too, is part of the dust.
Password unspoken, we enter in
We have arisen from trance at last.
In the musty labyrinths
it matters not that we are carved
from dust motes in the air.
Our flesh and bones are useless here.
Others still dance to music
they can no longer hear.
on the walls of another plane
wait for the last hand to be played.
in the lustful arms of darkness
where dreams are too willing
to turn to nightmare.
The warmth of you is enough.
Let us drink now
from these chalices of air
and leave the word unspoken
then continue onto the end,
beyond the door.
A secret place
where they will never find us.