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your wings ache to be saved, the tenderness in you spiels that heaven shouldn't blister your novice heels, yet ambition famines you greater than fear.

HOLD YOUR BREATH

close your star-fleshed eyes (while they're still alive, burning), i don't want you to witness as my furtive fingers pluck your sterling plumes, nor watch as your porcelain skin weaves into vague materializations of what could've been, no longer a creature of the sun.

i'll bury myself under quicksand every time you grieve the nectar you once swallowed and bore, but you scrape your knees on the entrance to my underworld.


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