Gemellus Chapter Two

An apologue of unison

IV.

The twins

your mind births salty creatures, safe in the amniotic fluid of the mind, they know not yet what they are, spineless, versatile critters, moistened with the covet they turn the water into mire, in turbid, dwelling places forming their positions;

leering through fluttering dark, two halves of the unimaginable whole

dip those oleaginous fingers in some old magic, balancing forces take hold, immortalizing our passions;

let us greet yet another aficionado, I’m the connoisseur of introspection, just your meticulous and youthful maniac, tripping through the tropics;

smoke infuses my daytime doze, whirls me in a misty daze, woozy from the souse injected I give way to the one whose voice suffuses over the static;

breast on breast, a beast and a lamb

embedded in their veins, the dying embers of content

hair unbound, I offer them truce

chest heaving, their passion is yours

impart the one whose throat burns with spite

a sudden caprice is yet to shake the wicked sage from my shoulders

and it’s their grip tenacious that I fear in the night

for when they take my lingering hand I divide

scourged and cleaved, a mere fractionate in their bones

disjoin the heart

the afflatus, their obsession

paroxysms of weeping, my weakness

oh the muses and their pleas, dance in vengeful duplicity

there are those who care not for peace and for content

dragging my words through the violet air

they will not let go till I succumb to their ways

so mind my wicked words, twisted ravelled slurs

naught but curls of smoke to choke

when the ink cracked open spills, they purr with dark delight

at what was wrote and wrought

awake from your light drowse with a healthy dose of fascination, their spellbinding appeal is what makes this real;

don’t you know you have their eyes, they are watching you from within the glass;

bestial eyes saturated with the electric charge rupture our corporeal plane

those mordant creatures made a mockery of me, wiggling their tales;

after brief digression we excel in our cerebral pursuits, the same old whim tickles the cheek, my fingers tapping, I’m learning, in soft purrs weaving and turning, a utopian metropolis for all my funny friends in the blue aquatic

a blue light radiates in our aquarium, it makes the living dream all that more believable through the humid days;

gloopy vines to nest, I feel a claw caress, their biting minds explain

jungle tropes whisper their moistened visions through the humidity

I would savvy what to do about them but their slopes so slippery

adhere me to their painted nocturnes with such ease

lay back on burning amber, basking in the melting hues of dusk, afternoons diluted, the sweet sherbet smooths things, we forget, taking pleasure in the calming lavender;

don’t you know you have their voice, use it;

affixed to deftly tongues who go ranting, the binding, ancient slang of timeless knowledge

supposing telepathic communication is a topic, retreat momentarily from the exhausting meshwork of biological imperatives

you once thought their sequence was but a glitch in a perfectly arranged system

romanticized by lapping minds clutching to their greatness, in your restless beauty go forth blazing, narcotised by the magic bullet

enjoy the fragrant lilac when it blooms every spring, under moonlight shimmer scream, fear not death for one day you shall return, blue and purple as they are;

from the left to the right of the mind’s spectrum, our counsellors bequeath us their resilience, tender animals who engulf us with benevolence, we stand dazzled by their immaculate nature and solicitude;

the soul extricates itself from the addictions of the human condition

in a sea of voices, inner spurious opinions, the tongue refractory releases

a little gift of certainty amidst truth’s evasive ring

a concept will passively mirror a reality, that reality will conform, the mind’s notions will but become, conceivable;

who can claim the stern voice in us persisting,in the arboreal of the rear mind subsisting, where draughty thoughts bring disaffection, all transient coherence sybaritic and misleading, my mannerism emptied of motive and justification

the fool’s master is his mind, rustic, decaying material, afraid that this shall be its last season, for if the observer comes to neglect, every belief and idea conveyed, its existence threatened in an instance, when the host begins to question its discretion, what was once perceived as gracious gifting, revealed to be but a poisonous needle, nipping;

I see you writhing your soul before a world indigent, wooing you with savoury ingredients, bartering your poise and soul’s dexterity for the evanescent material, the quiet ones will only riddle you, torment you with evasiveness

the mind goes on, poisoning its own philosophy, the incorruptibles stood brave with secrecy, immune to those deceiving properties, muttering words periphrastic and circumlocutory, superior creatures confined and solitary, refusing to comply with debauched masses;

the ego’s buttress is its own predicament, and only the known phenomenon could reinforce its next illusory discovery, the door was closed but then we opened it;

a tribute to the ones who dare disturb the stillness, their gift to us rifted, the noumenon, affirming its existence shows us knowledge independent of the senses;

little mouth that stirs a fire, disarranges the succession and the sequences

the invisible incentive, poised, organizes the nomenclatures into their indisputable positions

the prestidigitator reveals her appetency, transliterating from a language foreign and resilient, an aureate heart bursts, filling up the spaces vacant inside of me;

the genius of poesy steps up to the rostrum, her legacy made explicit

man’s great designs cower and flee, peripheral and nugatory before the palette of her elusive parlance

the great rose of toil becomes our leaden wreath

and in the end, a coronet

for mastering the dark and the uncanny

the equivocal of virtue is as arguable as the profound in men

our dream of freedom and our instinct to permute the maze

an eerie symphony of two, each simmering in their solitude for days

it was not so long ago that my head was of two brains

a gemini’s fastidious soul and its million prospects

balancing denial on tremendous self assurance

there is no bigger curse our leaden fate can instigate

the knell rang solemnly and death swayed me into a dream

her angel’s trumpet was a kiss

feather like and bearing relief

I hear the nightingale, our night time singer

this is the bridge where I cross between them

my dear sublime, formidable facade

can I get a second face?

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