I am trying to suffocate a desire. In the cathedral of stain, of resin, in this shadow palace, I steeple. Between god and body, between body and body, your body a god, a space disappears, folds in, on me. I try my best to stay beyond the space. To splay holy, to shape untouchable.
Myself tonight, as you speak tonight, I fill of ache. I want so bad, but there is a nothing at the end of it, there is just space. I believe you might be made of a similar shape. But your body is big, and your want is so small. Do not worry. I can take small parts and make them big. All I need is a moment.
Confess of it.
I can forgive the claw of hunger. I can forgive your purity. But I cannot forgive a body that dies within the without.
In an echo chamber I cast back what is given to me. The reflection of a reflection of a reflection of nothing. In an airless chamber, my desire in song, all my desire is you.
I built this hell myself, o you make love a wicked thing.
In my cathedral, I am hermit; I am noose; always a pew, always a font; always the glass waiting for the light. I will never be saffron without you. I will never be blue.
I am waiting to have something placed upon me, to move with a bit of the breeze, not all of it, I don’tn eed all of it, just a little, to be made full of this disease. I am panting of you I am, I am panting I am. I am falling down the leg of this chair into the liminal, and it will never let me go. I am reading about the sea and seeing you instead & I should tell you:
I used to love the sea.
In me crusades, in me worlds separate and never-never, and not a lick of reconciliation. O sweet dead permanence. Just the big weeping nothing; a slight trip into the moon at night. When I wake up I have heaven all over my hands and it won’t come off. I have everything divine all over me and it won’t wash off.
I am an hour, I am a thousand hours, I am an almost-almost, I am your never-never. I am a space closing, at home in my want, in this vent of soot, I am come closer, come violent, come potent, come wild, come necro. I am a struck match, come touch me, come to the void. Come void me.
Lisa Marie Basile is the founding creative director of Luna Luna Magazine, and the author of "Light Magic for Dark Times," a modern grimoire of inspired rituals and daily practices. She's also the author of a few poetry collections, including the forthcoming "Nympholepsy." She has written for The New York Times, Narratively, Grimoire Magazine, Sabat Magazine, Yes, Poetry and more. Lisa Marie earned a Masters degree in Writing from The New School and studied literature and psychology as an undergraduate at Pace University.