the motion of crowds; sip their wine
slowly, each glass lustfully kisses their lips
leaving behind only a stain
privileged now, their lips speak with color, standing out
insisting a dance; to songs unbeknownst to my feet
the night is ripe, a sweet blackberry to ingest
savory on my eyes, the lids shut to find
the bit of light within, before the darkness befriends
unveil the raveled threat constricting my sight
the honey lights travel as far as sound
stretching down the walls, collecting in a pool
gathered beneath, the crowd begins to surround
their faces are unclear pictures
yet, their eyes are piercing
hungry for the flesh, but my bone is so close
as they made their hand with my skin
press their palm on my wrist, hold my neck as the noose
my empire is weak already, up in flames
my kingdom meets the furry of death
disguised in sight, for many years
the majesty of unknown sung from afar
but with it comes to a rhythm, that my muscles
can recall as we do to blink and breathe, chew and swallow.
to the flames, i will take
these final secrets kept in the pocket of my heart
they may sip and be drunk
and insist that the dance is theirs, but i resist
as their fingers leave my glass eyes
they will only leave a mark, to be cleaned
but not carry with them my identity.
