sartreations
xeniot

and breaks the eternal mourning
by the running of his lips upon the sharping
edge of night, cut into the stretching
space under the windowpane
shattered by the drifting rocket to the moon
as his body rolls its aching fingers
across the pommel of the tied
dimensions writhing through the fabrication
wrapped around his breathing sleep
of moons dissolving in the fleeting
stir of floaters in the burning
ocean and the smell of phosphorescence
dragged into the land, buzzing
with a fading hiccup of the furies