Alaska, a girl, naked and flightless, feet not touching the ground.
I worship with silver and sacred paper and all the shots collected.
The graven altar of softness and warmth, like the sacred,
Cannot be touched or measured, only weighed in blue iris blackened.
The songs are not sweet in communal passion and utmost darkness
And the bitter marks of life are unseen, neon conceals death and holiness.
Eyes lock, the only light stars shine in a windowless cell and frustrum kiss.
Stars blue as the ocean of which Demiurge came to spoil all love and flesh.
Take it in hand and it will be extinguished completely by force of arms.
It’s a light, and youth is hard as the sun in it’s cruel throne and bed of silver.
I orbit the light now, even having drawn another veil to wrap it like a child.
Light and stars and some hope of some other place, promised but cannot be awarded.
Silver and sacred paper are the prayers given, time and the weight of milk returned.
So goes the show, and the cold winter outside, the hand of the gloved moon repentant,
Vowing to return to it’s shame in the stars beguiled and deathlike in a mistreated love.