Fair Flying

between your mouth and crown, i’m waiting for a silent answer to a silent question like an atheist who prays. stitches aren’t thick enough to fix our broken souls, so i’ll take the pieces and unify, starting with fingers and auras, third eyes and toes. i’ll lace the pair of us like shoes, so we trip and fall. i want to play with your spirit, your sap, your being. i want to turn your tears to tea. my favorite part is not knowing what you’d do if i did.

I used to pour the last drop of tea down the drain. That was before the fall, before every crumbling piece was a ceramic wing, before an inner solstice had begun. I was a tool for gods to use. Now, I am their voice. I drink the last drop while the moon stretches, on the edge of ecstatic orgasm. Think of the oceans that wouldn’t exist without our tears, or holes in the earth, empty without our blood. Think of the walls we broke to build new ones. I drink the last drop while two girls across the street stumble in high heels like children playing dress-up. I would too, if I knew how to follow lamplight. But I’m not quick to kick, spinning into the night like a leaf - no, I am everlasting and cold. I am the the final swig, the ending sip. I am the seed you never spilled, but drank ‘til the last drop.