our stars and the crooked
tires of the black cycle
that is now apart. a part
of the sky.
juggle me whole while
our disconnected lashes
comb finely through the
long of
suicides neck.
i thought we were cages
but we just forgot to
pull in our wing ended
fairy tale. a fine tale of
taupe fairies in diluted
with innocence, hair.
we got caught with
the wires wide
closed.
black ice rigid with
fearless light and hopeful
tears; our faces will glisten as
we stare at our stars;
in the morning
moon.
