Friday 22 March 2019

Throne of the Mount

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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