struck me like sweet incense
of some storm of stardust
and by my doing, of old copper coins
the blood collected in his throat
the steely scent on his breath as it warped his voice
sent cold shrapnel through my tendons
I slipped and sank into the noise

I might miss having my heel stepped on
achilles exposed for far too long
sans the snake to snap at it
sans the sickle to scythe its hit
sans orpheus to ink an ode
sing it until his breathing slows

sing until his breathing slows