Our Lord,
You have a grander star for us, your children...
The wooden house crumbles
underneath the weight of misery...
Crystal balls saunter
sapphire snow angels turn...
You wallow in your cocoon
a musky scarlet tongue...
Heroic leaves mourn with my skin
as we both wrinkle past the fabrics of time...
I enter the confessional
longing for repentance...
I take a photograph of the unwritten horizon,
waiting for golden notes to flutter...
9:41
Night is stranded...
Whitespire's low canopy hung off long hand...
while the sour birch prostrated before your beady...
The surreal embers
glow within us...
I cut my sorrow open
and let the black glass...
She posed like a crow
darkly vulnerable yet...