Blue horus

Long muscles, delicate spindles,
throbbing in the morning through your smooth skin,
covered with down smelling of sin.

From the blue rivers, pulsing with life,
images are coming through your fingers,
they touch the light and the word is there.
And it lingers…

The sun rays on windows, triptych dreamlike,
hit back and forth, bringing the visions.
We’re just apostles of all known religions.

We raise on all fours, raise on to light,
we’ve passed beyond the last level of shame,
we baptize ourselves; baptized with sweat,
Son is our name.

Blue horus

omitofo

Bucharest, Romania

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