any piece of stone
to turn into eternal gold -
wasn't that the holy aim
of every ancient magus?
and wasn't he the first philosopher
the world has ever known
who stepping out the burning furnace
squatted down
and said
- so much perfection, Hermes,
what do we even need it for?
that love is the alchemy
of the almighty fragile human soul
is the most we've managed to uncover
from the sacred jigsaw
of the gods.
the damned desire
to turn each weakness of the other
into a flawless streak of gold
is Amour's arrowhead
wounding our love to death.
What we talk about when we talk about
das zum Tod verurteilte, verliebte also, Herz,
only you and I and Carver...
you and I and Carver
and Bacchus' hetairai know.