How it decays—
a legacy lost in a hundred days.
I loved him too much; too much to outrun
a part of me.
In the thundered rays of thick ecstasy,
’found this sound—this
chorus clapping—pounding me its damnedest;
and, now, it stays.
A misery—a son spotted—he plays
black keys like eyes
roamin’ the clay. Eyes opened cloud like skies
wrinkled with care.
Things led through days, like hot breath, burn lips bare.
Wishing my Self
out of there, I dare become someone else
with purple privilege, Love’s ricochets.
if we are thornless, who is lonelier?