Rose gold and agave tincture drops
laid to rest upon the serpents tongue
until the speakers shake
the tree from which the martyr
falls unto the cloud
that splats on impact

Oh marmalade sweetness!
to what do we owe this
trembling rotten-legged pleasure?


Surface now in overtime
the sirens screeching
at the child across the street
who sinks into the boiling malt

Bring with you the chalice
full of aerial photographs
to drink the spectators thoughts
stuffed within the temporal stone

Remembering to forget
this holy place of presence
draw the mighty bridge we cross
into enveloping florescence