...........

puppet string strangler,

it is i

who is the executioner

of the Goddess rapture

enveloping the sun

between our pslams

and wrapping our

flesh around you:

a wonderland of scars

and YOU!

cage yourself

in the boneyards

to devour your darlings

with such fleetness

it is considered artful.

all of the truth

and STILL!

the fallen angel rots,

searching for the thing itself

while singing their

monthslong swan song,

and blotting their lashline

with pomegranate seeds

from the forest

and turning into a Sycamore.