Diving into the silent cataclysm of those eyes,
skin oxidizing in his obsidian stare,
piercing past the phantom pain,
ghostly thin, slipping through fingers,
a radiant warning, imprinted slow decay—
spinning into vertigo as I face the precipice.
Quietly tracing him from the distance,
holding the silence of his unspoken depth,
as he towers tall, unflinching frostbite—
with moon at heart, I wax and wane.
I see black tears of his tormented soul,
falling, petrified into silver as they drop,
bound for the earth into a brittle shatter,
a cold gathering before our feet,
buried chasms that reek of putrid waters,
etched to his heart, held in a clenched fist—
yet there’s light, escaping his black star.
When words should arrive, there’s smoke,
a squelched fire, held deep in his breath—
draws me near, halts a touch.