shizukaanu

He the perfect artisan created his from air, and light and relieving warmth and all the songs he knew Placed silver on my tongue burned questions upon my lips burned too deep not to be followed Dressed in delicate wings wish garment spruce and bright it branded my skin and blinded my limbs in deep graven promises carved deep in my heart Sat down at his table and fed the best of his to hone my hunger but I ache for one moment of blinding grandeur to outshine the others He flaunted false wisdom for ages of weaker hearts, forgotten words and lesser tongues, made apparitions with colors lines for good and evil that sullied my ey

the throe of your mouth when you bite your lip and taste sweet, the blood of angels, in that moment I believe in God. once I found him nether laying in a basket of your bones where you made him sing and made me believe your dangerous regard under the ruddy heracy of your wings