She tastes like honey
and Autumn leaves,
leaving me with fuller
with each breath she gives.

I am a dog that laps up
God's tears.

Divine beings spill their secrets to me
and I sit
like a good girl
on their kitchen floor,
listening,
but never speaking
the same language.

An exhale stains the sky
as ash and ambiance
fall from her lips.

She is permeating the night air
with the aroma of tobacco
and a great story to tell.

The sky rips through itself with ease.
Self-destruction is an art form when
you are nothing but constellations and wonder.

Black holes tear
through the fabric of the universe
and celestial hands reach through them,
scratching at God's flesh.

Stellar voices echo
through these pits of imbibe
asking it's creator
one question:
"why?"

Fistfuls of stars thrown into
the jarring teeth of inferno;
a flame that feuls more fire.

Planets are crushed
under gravity's legs,
and, like a child unsatisfied with a drawing,
the space between galaxies
crumples like paper.

Tired of being a feast for human eyes,
and being

Poked, Proded, and Penetrated by People

God's first and best creation
consumes itself whole
to satisfy
the hunger.

The sky is drowning
in itself.

Ripping itself apart
through black holes
and hoping that eating itself

will keep it full.

***** of feather
fill the air,
flutter and flap,
their wings tear
the atmosphere
with expertise.
Two little birds:
Plum and Bean.

I pray that the ghosts
that haunt my bones
and the demons
that line my skin
know what they are doing
because I don't.