Idris
Carthage
Peter and Paul.
Do you remember when it was just you and I?
When you met me on that long road, just outside Damascus.
Just before you entered the uproar and cacophony.
Just before the soiled and stifled air could press itself upon you. I did.
When you climbed into the caves lingered there, if only to shelter yourself from the heat of the sun.
I was so hungry then, aching with it.
Our breath beating with the pulse of the day, and you said ‘time stopped.’
But my one, time had not a beginning. Much less an end.
How he laughed and laughed.
Clanging on the bars of his prison spell at such lunacy.
And for a moment I almost believed him.
For a moment that stretched on as long as no time could tell, I knew myself in such inversion that I began to cry tears that flooded the valley below.
It was the racing of his heart that brought me back to him.
His shallow breath, as he drowned in my sorrow.
In my laughter.
In my hollow mad hat engulfment.
What are you, that isn’t such as night and day?
What are you that is flesh and none?
That is me as I become you? As I become that thing I ran from in the dark. That I burned, and tracked.
What are you, that I have found bound unbinding in me?
What are you?
I am Idris.
Carthage.
Peter and Paul.
GAEON-
Image || John Collier. Priestess Of Delphi