mind.wolf

i will curse the moon for its selfishness
and i will burn every steeple who dared
to touch your sky. i felt this urge with gusts,
that turquoise stone stung like thunder.
that utter, clenched and swallowed.
that which breathes our end.
i worship the souls of men dead
and praise their echoed humming.
against my chest with sudden beating,
i struggle to eat, i taste nothing.
should i fear the narrowed corner turning,
fled by distance from your eyes?

all that i paint will find you.