I wonder if it was the
scorching sword
or molten fire, from your eyes
that poured.
You chauffeured me
across seas of pain and bliss.
My parched mouth made no sound.
Only silent crevices
of inside roared.
No longer were you music
but stormy fire-dance.
Your charring heat,
bleeding into every inhalation
I housed.
The deadly venom you
soaked my breath with,
I shall feed on now.
To burn myself up
before I burn myself out.
No comments:
Post a Comment