(Saprotrophic: Feeding on dead matter (I actually learned something from bio!)
Pertrach: poet. Wrote poems addressed to a "saintly" woman that was too good, chaste, etc. to deserve his love. Similar to Romeo's adoration of Juliet: spiritual, unadulterated love. Please tell me if I got anything wrong...)
-No less a dream of stone and more your wasted lover! I am your solitary, your taciturn angel, I cup rose-melon dew in weathered hands above your humble grave. Malodorous charm, do not spurn me. I love your quiet, earthy charms, your agony eyes. I love you horrified by your own existence.
Did you see me, Sartre's shadow, along the gloomy halls and corridors? Did you feel my fingers down your hair? Did I unfold among your paper valentines?
- Divinity! Allow me to trace your forgotten name, which is the honey of my tongue and the rotting of my toes.
Saprotrophic, you caught me in my moments of delusion; flitted, if not flew, in and out of my maladies of raving fire, between heaven and hell and everything else in between. You laughed in your own garden. I said, "I will be your gardener."
I kissed you.
(Dead sphinx, you hold no secret.)
You drummed tales in my ears, a little extraordinary. You spoke of sapid diamonds, lurid leprechauns, tales in a cave far away. You filled or tore the aching spaces between my pen and every breath. Yet I am a little more alive than you think.
I am your stone angel, melting.
Saprotrophic! Now can you speak, you who shuddered at your own existence?
Kissing the dice of star-crossed lovers?
You have found your purgatory, haven't you? Impatiently inane, you have seized your wine and gorged yourself till the last and bitterest dreg, filth gushing out your ripened lips. They have kissed you till you bled, a split berry.
Yet I will write your eulogies, madly, plunge them in platonic milk.
- I will channel Pertrach from the graves. I will rival him and fix his head on a wooden pike.
Your existence, I am choking from mine.
Love! I wade into deep waters, I die a thousand metaphysical deaths!
-Love! Love is dead.