You deserve nothing less than the limitless majesty of gods infinite dimensions, forever trekking into the

angelic canvas of space, suspended in an ether of love and adoration for the grandeur of the Elysium that is your soul, my temple, lit with the flares of an enraged star that could instantly blind Sight himself, a star threatened into its corner of being by the flawless, omnipotent, all-prevailing force of yearning for your soul to be intertwined with the timeless fabric of mine, a force that could sew the blistered lips of Doubt and mind-warping Insecurity that consumes consciousness. Your love has illuminated the darkest corners of my primal skull with the brilliant knowledge of mere circumstance. Your love orchestrates a muses symphony that will forever rebound the boundless landscape of gods most euphoric dream. Your love reveals self-actualization, potent enough to emancipate all the captives and their comrades, my immortal mental prisoners, thoughts that can foresee the consequential nature of my organ-melting revelation. Your love unearths every orphaned memory of sub-conscious, memories, with the ability to pair fragments of testimony needed to incriminate Satan for censoring the dual-edged savant beneath the imploding pressure of all the oceans of pure ignorance weight. Your love assembles the legions of the apostles ashes, that ascend into the infinite blue heavens in a whirl-winding tribute to the resounding whimper of their last saintly breath, in an attempt to reassemble gods poetic medium of total salvation, so that they may fall short in revising all the worlds sacred texts in my beloveds tranquilizing name and mind-leeching profoundness. With this poem, our love will be known, rejoiced, sung, sought, and poorly counterfeited until the sun engulfs Earth in blaring glory, erasing any sign of Humanity. You deserve this and nothing less.

By: Triston Horton 12/6/13