#strop
on the edge of an apron,
border above,
hands bleed out the natron,
of thee, flies a dove.
a candlelight’s beam,
a trapdoor below,
the words to one seem,
for other to know.
soft natron in voice,
the labyrinth backstage,
out heart peaks a choice,
trapped in a black cage.
hearts bleed out to tears,
such glory they’ve seen,
eyes brighten of flares,
thee treasure, so keen.
a bow of the taking,
brown feathers as prop,
out wings lads were aiding,
necks tied with a strop.
May 15, 2019
May 15, 2019 at 2:57 PM UTC