Ravenous crows hover above the altar on the forest floor,
watching, peering, proud but fearing. Circling down more and more

And I recall you running, I recall you hide.
The heart you would give was invisible inside.
The laughter running like a silver creek,
where can it be now, is it hidden in their beaks?

If I've lost you I don't know
but your heart is my own, though it's cold as stone.
I still can feel you here my dear
and your lidless they eyes can't but stare.
-Speak of your emerald eyes and the pearls they cried,
your ruby smile and your obsidian lies;
It's all collected here and it's all so strong.
Not a part is missing, not a jigsaw puzzle-piece is gone.

Well enshrined here inside
my sacred, my secret museum of art.
Holy, enthroned, precious, my own,
one of a kind; your heart.

And as they're soon to feast, these grey clay-coloured beasts
land carefully and hide next to where you lie.
They anticipate, then they thank their fate
and start pecking at your thighs and what once was where your eyes were.

And the blood stained brittle beaks part in thanks and shriek
with confession in their cries.
We all gave in, it was no sin;
-We love you, the crows and I