alba diagnosed

alba before me. 
all strata and mysteries of blue symbols. 
we were a long night phrase. moons have no mercy upon us. 

love is labor with Logos surprising Poiesis. and darkness creates Sophia with rage and streams fleeing to the sea. you shall not cover your breasts. all possible nudes dance on purple hours of awe.

cover, cover all over. need not tides and gulls in panic. looking for the signal, the savior. nine months, nine after the despair of never. 
we love and float, terrified by that boiling blood altering the nodes of relentless syllables. 

we echo Golgotha, knowing how, not knowing if. 

terrified again, begging in full misery. 
if you do not love me I shall not be loved. terrified again. the nonsense of not loving, not loving, not loving. nonsense endures heavy bones of absence.
the absence is the same, thread and node of flesh and sand. the space opens and shuts your breasts, your rains, on me, on my door, threshold of life shifting into mist. or receding into your last tide. high in the dunes. we sink terrified again. loving, not loving. 

I might be dead now. and your rain would persist. on me, without curing our terror. raining are we begging. excruciating syllables, suddenly unveiling rays of something, there, out there, somewhere.

a last saying rises through the whole globe of our breasts, silence set aflame by life. as if necessarily. 
a far cry again. a far. rises away.
if I do not love you I shall not love again. unless folly. but I whisper again the end of my word. what is the Word. it all boils and melts and rains. there is no language to cease this fall from last times.