I saw wild-poppies in your eyes
Your tongue was a coarse dead petal
Your crown slanted,
As if it did not belong on your mess
Of hair.

Within you are the souls of one thousand
Shades: ghosts, wights, spirits
Shades: hues, tones, colours
Within you
They play seance
With your ribs
Lighting buttercups from your blood

Gods take your crown
Poppies in sight of the holy ones...
**** you, **** you, I will not have my own tongue die.