The Little Death

I used to think only I had such a place,
I know now I wasn't alone, I was only isolated.

Experience has taught me that it's flesh on flesh
that causes wounds.
Destroying all the beauty and the wonder
touching holds.

There is a place inside me
which protects me in times of war.
When rape of mind and body
threaten to suck-up my soul.

Within my sancutary
I am wrapped in sweet, warm gold.
Where mulitudes of colors wisk me off to slumbers hold.

>From here no terrors touch me
( no man would be so bold).
The whirling colors seperate me
from the enemies ugly flesh-
until the intensity created
explodes in brilliant reds.

By blinding soul and body
the invasions are never met:
-in the little death the scars of shame I can forget.

It is the pleasure born within me
that my death protects.

I never fear the dying...
for in this fleeting moment I know my sanity is kept.