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Celestial heat

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Man’s truths, for the most part, are only half truths

And the phases of the moon are only tricks of light

We see ourselves in her forms

And our darkness in her shadows.

The fair among us glowing with fullness,

The lost look upon an empty sky

And wonder if the moon is with their errant hearts,

Leaving only the horror of a hole in the sky.

Our truths are not truths but the way we bend the world

Like magicians

Performing only for ourselves,

So the years don’t loom so heavy above us.

Under the casted spell,

The moon’s gaze swings to Earth, drifting from the company of stars

To rest her heart with us,

To spear the darkness with loving light,

And give edges to the shadows creeping

So we may fling them from ourselves,

Or fold them into our selves,

Half-truths are better than none,

Are better than the full truth,

That Truth is really nothing at all.

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Through the steam on the mirror

We are just shapes

The soft peach of me

The dark sun-tone of you,

I can’t see your freckles in the reflection

As if you are not you, and maybe I am not me

We could be one creature, one being,

Right now we are.

My hand slipping on the edge of the sink,

Yours slipping between my legs.

The faucet is cold on my cheek,

Like the gasp lingering on the corner of my lip

You can have it, if you want it,

Take it from me in a kiss.

The steam is rising, building

A culmination of the moment, approaching

A figure in the steam.

A presence, heavy and invited.

I think I hear it rising in the water

Still pouring, did we forget to turn it off?

Our breaths are tangling together

In ghostly mimicry.

I forget about the water, I was wrong.

The rising scream

Is in my throat, maybe it’s in yours too

Ripping the air apart

Too clear and too bright

In this dream caged in with slick walls

And the tiny window above the toilet.

You wipe my lip with my own desire.

I wipe the dream from the mirror,

When we’re done.

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Pink Floyd

Money/Any Colour You Like

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Pink Floyd 2005

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