racked across her burning shoulders
i was the pig but on a flaming spire
so close to the ethereal cotton.
i was suffocating
and only a snap of the neck or a crack of the joints
provided a release of oxygen that set us aflame.
we don't belong here and the belittling braces
our salivating frontal lobes. it's still too dry,
and from this moment on, how could this moment bring
more tears than my own death? i float atop the spire once more
to lay, to decay, and to fade faster than the last words
you spoke to me.