Somewhere beyond the sands of time
When pattern, signal, and echo converge
Threads woven together finally take shape in the fabric of reality.

The prima material that holds the cosmos together like glue
Melts by the heat of the fire we ignited.

Sticky, running like fresh maple syrup, and just as sweet
Covering my hands and everything they touch
The ichor of creation strung between fingertips and intentions
Leaving fingerprints on every surface of your skin.

Photograph of the reckless crime scene-
Arson; murder; audacity wrapped in lace.

Athamé with a velvet handle laying on the table beside us
Dripping with wanton need and alchemy like the blood of the stars
Splattered across the faces of every unfortunate soul who sat in the front row that night
When our performance crossed the line.

We crossed the line.

Lit a match by the lightning strike that arced between us
When we finally bridged the spark gap
And burned that mother fucking theater to the ground.