The strip of black which runs down your back
reminds me of the night on which I wailed to
the heavens from the desolation of my dungeon.
As wide and warm as the Serengeti it was.
That lonely fallow feather that lies on your
coal colored encased sacrum is the beacon
of light that I gazed on that night.
I see – you latch onto the light with fear just as I did.
Golden rays bent down and melted my face until it
fell off; nothing remained except blood and bone.
The next morning I scooped my skin off of the floor
and then patted it back into place like an embryo