You are the artiste, I – the magician.
You play with colour and shape,
as you trace the lines along my face.

Yet I may choose to disappear,
bend the rules that keep my here.
I tread the wire that suspends belief.

You find me here, yet lose yourself,
as colours give way to shapes that
melt lines between the two of us

Held together we form a cross, a
crucifix to keep me here,
until I’m bled I shan’t disappear.

O magician that tread the water clear,
now bleeds the red of wine –

The artiste pains to see you here, yet
shapes the cross the grips the hearth,

Now crimson hued the Earth gives way
to the corpse that bled its wine in vain.



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