The night smells
of opium and incense.
The leaves of the Gods,
spread and burned.
A smoldering dream is discovered
and experienced.
Scented rooms of gold and lace,
changing patterns of dripping wax.

Hypodermic sleep.

Poets and prophets,
visiting my chemical world,
or am I reaching into theirs?
Leaving existance to feel death.

Hazy, fog covered beliefs,
I've seen them clearly,
yet still cannot touch.

The spirit has returned!

Possession is erotic!
A mirrored reflection,
of the dead!