for the arms
that hold me tightly
won't you feed me to the tides of war?
"I would never. I love you."
The garden of eden shares her suspicion with me
"Why is that?"
'Never' is the name of a fox I know
"Do you still talk to this fox?"
To his skeletal remains written in the dark
When grief comes
"And what about love, do you speak with her too?"
She visits me when she must
When she feels like feeding people to the war
for the boy
that loves every face
the moon chooses to show
"What are you thinking about?"
Stories on the backs of ravens
Obsidian angels who set souls on fire for a living
"What do the ravens tell you?"
The ocean cleans his plate tonight
He wastes her sacred fruit
Why, the moon's of course
"Why would he do that?"
Liars cannot taste little slices of heaven
"So... what happened to her fruit?"
It wasn't fed to the war
"I don't quite understand."
Neither did love
for my phoenix,
that brings the sun to it's knees
"You are everything I've ever wanted."
Cardinal sins on the sky's wrist
You desire that?
"No, I desire a natural disaster."
that kind of wish lies on the backbone of insanity
"I wouldn't be suprised, my love."
That you desire the unfathomable?
"Ah, but I am in love with a poet."
for the lover
who I buried in the window,
who waited patiently for my return
Love is right behind you
"Oh? What does she want?"
What love has always wanted
"And what do you want?"
An alpine sketch of myself through your eyes
"I hope love doesn't mind~"
"She is and always will be
the moon sketched in every masterpiece.
She is a mosaic along the alpine land,
like fog cupping the trees at first light, or
an emerald forest radiating with grace.
She is the roots of every seed
sown to emerge a queen among calm soils,
and the ghost of an god once lost.
She sews wolves into their sheets at night,
tangles stars in the fur of foxes,
breathes the dawn into the heart of bears, and
teaches the fish the art of harvesting time.
She is holy,
she is art made flesh.
She is the bloodstream of every crystal river,
the lungs of the misty mountains themselves,
the skin of every wildflower known to earth herself.
And by god,
do I love so much
that love herself tastes jealously
for the first time in her life.
...Beautiful is the soulmate of that sin
"You think so?"
"Well, is Love still standing behind me?"
Indeed, she drinks your words as if it were the tides of medicine
"Flattering...however my love, I do have a question."
I house ten thousand answers
"So, who did love feed us to?"
this is for the boy
I was fed to
in the tides of war
We will always be hungry
© Copywrite Skaidrum