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I saw the greened moon fall, and her light and its flowers distorting her visage. My memory’s lost in the waves, but I see the beauty in her violence and taste artifacts of her breath. Entrenched in the things that made me long to breathe clean, and smother every flame that I nursed. That feral star bared its cracked fangs and pounced into the sea, like it’s done a thousand times before. Diluting all salvation, her brain is a sopping wet annihilative aid. Begging to feel again. We were whispering about life and gods of skin; tithing for an anonymous death. Let me feel again. It obfuscates me to gaze upon your pocked, marred form, with lion’s eyes.
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