And when we are dead,
and our incandescent skin has dimmed,
and hangs in blackened rags on honeycomb bones,
our electric limbs are stilled by soil,
and the flesh that we have loved so fiercely
has all gone into the darkened tomb,
our luminous leavings will linger here,
haunting the impassive dune,
testament to a time when the base matter of
our lustful bodies was transfigured,
and we laid ourselves open to possesion by light.
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