placid mural
The flashes just before the seventy-five millimetre projector play every moment I had with you.
The film dulls itself once your glimpses turn memory —
My ivory heart, why cry for an inevitable climax?
To poach a wild mind like ours is to drive the missiles into our dreams; pleasing extinction before we sleep.
Could I feast starved touch on a tear-jerked canvas?
I promise to hug the brimstone-clouded mind to shield you from molten irons.
Be your jester,
Be your hand,
Be your pillowed lover,
Though — my character bleeds its flaws prominently as to come are plotted tragedies, but accept me.
loud rivet
hollow swan