the whiskey scorns the back of my throat as I return to staring into Space. It's almost empty. save for the holes. I park my dark, near the tiny star - on your cheek. I go where the rain has feelings and a drought is a flood of affection... scorching the tongue in my besotted skull.
a cavalry of orchids forged upon the moon - but anointed near the flames at hand. the ready hells at our door. bathing in the ashes of our dreams... as our celestial trajectory descends - into the palm of destiny.
or so I imagine. eventually.
but the holes cannot be contained. nor the spark that divides them. we suffer for no reason. the universe is feeling everything. It is not Thinking, It is knowing the terrain of the unknown Grace. and what the holes may consume soon returns... and what happened was a life.