In a white room this moment lasts forever. Heaven lurks behind the door that is just outside my field of vision. In a white room this moment is black with dried blood. The nail through her wrist is a manacle. The nail through her ankle is a shackle.
Stories chained in the flavor of semen are too large to be captured in lyric.
The ear in my throat has listened to the terrible, acidic rasp of my own strings of amines, the bitter tails of my sperm. I generate only metaphor. I can conjure no memory. When Heaven sluices tongues of flame I speak in chains. Skeins of chromosomes, ramshackle twistings of amines and hydrogen bonds, ordain secret slavery.