anna:
her eyes were ringed wells, bottoms a palette of golds and browns and hazel
and her mouth a ripe rose thing, not fading—
limbs were long as waves and trees. upon the deepest fires of annihilation,
her name was carved upon sides of mountains; it was then she would never
survive the entirety of spring, and never wake from dreams of
god lifting the rivers of earth.
angels cannot love and neither can those without warmth
and knowledge of fire—
she was now with closed mouth, have my wings survived my fall—
or are ashes what I am left to become
is there nothing that remains at all—
but a soft tut and scared flesh come undone?
he:
nameless, he grasped withered breasts and he planted himself as seed
and spoke to her with gentleness:
you are frail for now and where are you mother and father?
without life nor death, that is sorrowful, and your wings are, without flight,
a love to mend deep your shattered occipital ~ your unhushed dreams
cannot find nourishment in the stagant well of distilled suns,
i usher you home where your wars are empty and you cannot hear
how merciful these gods without ambrosia are.
will these limbs move in the spring when the rains have dried
and an exchange unfit of lovers with mouths swollen of sighs—
your hips unbeloved by gods, mortals who could not have cried
at the mourning of your fire with quick, loveless eyes.
he became, without sound, the gentle breeze of lungs full of oceans
while she stared unseeing. unloving of his embrace.
Gold trophy winner
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