Croak

and on the last day,
our very last day,

I am the same sludge as you
curling into slow lulls
of years
and years and years and years

of quiet while
a snarling god draws
from our world
like nectar

unfurled like a spector
you are absurd grandeur
foiling and flashing
in the muck

and once
our star destructs
I promise,
we will hold hands and bow