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I'm going to write a letter to my true love, I'm going to sign my name
It is International Pixel-Stained Technopeasant Day, which I forgot to observe last year. I should probably have written something Shakespearean, but you are getting Kabbalah instead. Written for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rushthatspeaks, originally published last January in Not One of Us' Love Is a Hurtin' Thing. If you want to miss the point of this particular internet holiday entirely, it can be found in print in A Mayse-Bikhl.
Sefer Yetzirah
Every lover's letter is a golem,
silence stirring at the cut of a name.
The air's arched gasp, the water's hum,
the shuck and slick of red-slip river-silt
prepare the ground,
the braid-black slide of ink through fingers fires
the skin's fine craquelure, a nervous calligraphy.
Every golem is a lover's labor,
carving God from bodies in the night.
Desire’s wheel slows, kicks,
pulls us round again beneath the stars
that spell of slate and honey, bitterest sweet.
Take my hand, gloved in these waking words
like burning leaves. They smolder through the clay.
Every golem's lover is the letter,
the sign of holding fast as truth to death.
rushthatspeaks, originally published last January in Not One of Us' Love Is a Hurtin' Thing. If you want to miss the point of this particular internet holiday entirely, it can be found in print in A Mayse-Bikhl.Sefer Yetzirah
Every lover's letter is a golem,
silence stirring at the cut of a name.
The air's arched gasp, the water's hum,
the shuck and slick of red-slip river-silt
prepare the ground,
the braid-black slide of ink through fingers fires
the skin's fine craquelure, a nervous calligraphy.
Every golem is a lover's labor,
carving God from bodies in the night.
Desire’s wheel slows, kicks,
pulls us round again beneath the stars
that spell of slate and honey, bitterest sweet.
Take my hand, gloved in these waking words
like burning leaves. They smolder through the clay.
Every golem's lover is the letter,
the sign of holding fast as truth to death.
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Thank you for posting something awesome for it!
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Happy International Pixel-Stained Technopeasant Day! I've nothing to post for it, unfortunately.
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Thank you.
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the braid-black slide of ink through fingers fires
the skin's fine craquelure, a nervous calligraphy. --maybe I've commented on those lines before. Because I like them so much.
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Yes! And I hope there was proper observance of Saint Violet and her night-blooming retinue.
--maybe I've commented on those lines before. Because I like them so much.
Hah. Thank you!