darkness, for its wet breath and half-willowed trance,
together, we named it a slut for its gifts and reprieve,
because we couldn’t see what was hiding,
in the back, behind sky, under rocks, within seas.
it left. for us to quarrel with only the sun. and what we
have done, has burned the holes
where was our two eyes. in it’s place, i’ve placed berries
dripping tart and red honey, and now, i know,
creatures, shackled to land, aren’t made
for what is real at any time or even, at all for time. in the hours that
heaven may have been keeping us from. before we killed the myth, and desire
was our creation’s naked sin, we found without night, we were nothing
but rotting strip tease, crispy coated flesh, and a puncture hollowed for bloodbaths.