Women ☕ – Naomi-Salomé Zwilling

Taking the surface off, through repetition
Replicated with a lack
A series of scorpion suckers
Conquering with their ignorant fungal crawl
With their reptilian eye
Unconscious, decadent
Infecting empires
A thrifted Iliad

The pinks come
From the vacuous part of the rose
Rooted in a society of whispers
Things passing from one to the other
Indiscriminately, openings close
Expecting a lack
Mercurial morning, peddler of destinies
Cherry-red boulevard ghosts
Conquering with their innocent crawl, little objects

Shimmering surface, empire of repetition
Shadow passing over midnight, dog wine
Chasuble of Jezebel
Her hands, her silk, her blood
In the absence of flesh, God

In the absence of absence, God
In the empty grave
Recoiling from their pleonastic lust
Genealogies of famous ribs
The lesser ruling with sultry fever
Night-errant, drunk on servitude
Mock slaves with hazy eyes
Wanting to be real, saturated

Do not touch.