What Is This? کے بول

There is a star in my throat In a void there is hope In a space in between Runs the milk of release If motion is time I am water, I will rise To your bed on a cloud Where you stand, where you writhe Painted red, bleeding gold Your sword guts the Sun Flesh is torn Oceans disgorge your love We are swimming through Your moonlight pools The phosphene tides The writing on your eyes We drift through stone We sift our own powdered bones We wash, we are clean What is it now that is thinking this thing? Oh where are you? What can you do to prove you exist? Oh what is this? Who is this singing that which no longer exists? Nothing can stop us from becoming nothing now