My charred wings,
Always embarrassed me,
As though falling
Wasn’t the choice I’d always pick
It’s the decent,
That thrills me,
As though us falling to endings
Were some sort of tragedy.
And it’s how we were born to be.
So my earthen cherub with
Golden curls of forbidden longing
Skyline eyes of desirous mornings
It’s always been you.
Our days written,
Running amuck with
This yearning heathen,
As though the eons before
Before highway miles
With roaring scramblers careening
Meant as much as
The skyline of mortal intervening
Where our lips met,
Now there is nothing left but
Our temples of stars sublime
Conceleaing only our wild fires
Perched to anhilate everything on the horizon.
Kindling killer baby: Corvinerum
Destiny’s deconstruction sounds: