wading through fields drowned in blood

i listen to the sound of my pounding heart

dissolve into the carrion-song

of the ravens

while you shimmer in the glow

of my absence sipping dandelion wine

from divinity itself.



do the gods love you for it

as much as i?



**** them.

it doesn't matter.



their might will be mud

and they will choose oracles

from flowers reaching for indifferent sky

in a future far beyond the reach of

their miasmic mythologies

while you smile at me behind the same glass

of wine.



again, **** them.