Even a drowned king
dreams of peaks and clearest skies. Cleanest
air and angels low enough to touch. As
fingers trace an arcing wing. Those grey
feathers are not fiction. I still
remember them. Sometimes the simplest love-letters are the sweetest. I won't stop speaking the truth if you don't,
wild star. Those special places that
kept you when I couldn't. Those places
that once kept us both. Those steep valleys of light. Such cliffs to scale and heights to
measure. Home, remember me. Like
her hands. A moth to your own flame. Butterfly-respiration. Laken hilt. I fight for you, always and
forever. Crowns & Evening
Gowns. Till you peak, my love. Come,
the Light.
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