In my smoldering ash-head
there is a shadow of a prayer
shaped like his shoulders;
outlined lips silhouetted against
the sacred space between
your one wing and the ground.

he smells like coffee.

like your home, so silent
the half-twilight finds you
fully opened.
gasping hard.
he slips your hand
******* hip, a crushed mist
on softened skin
everything is basking
in your warm rolling thunder

every wet breath is pressed
with the seal of your lip
you perch in my owl eyes,
back-bashed through the rafters

he fills you like my empty beak
could not.
I am rat spine pellet,
a meat wrapped skeleton
chewing itself to nothing.