A bearded prince handed me the moon.
I learned all their lessons, even more;
the stars,
overwhelmed with fear for the sake of my courage.
I climb a corporate ladder into the night's stomach
until
Eve has to bear the punishment of my liberation, decades later.
The mouth of the sky has turned the Earth's head
into a Sphinx moth,
asking it to fly by us
until we dance our
dreams to
death.
Then when
morning comes,
it makes sense.
Morning
doesn't scare us back
into our cellars.
YOU ARE READING
PERCHED PARCHED BUTTERFLY
PoetryYour voice is the paint I take to the sky, splattering it all over, so they can all know you're nigh.
