I pluck the star from swirling deeps

The burn, the flameless fire creeps

like an epitaph unsung

across my lips, along my tongue

Scouring, devouring, I swallow it

down my gullet to my hollow bits

There, the swimming fever roils,

my pulse screams in my ears and boils

all the quiet, saner thoughts to death

With light and fire on my breath

I exhale and beg for rest, beg for time,

to digest the star I ate as mine

And when these tremors still, all slaked,

when I am well, when I awake,

I will gaze back to the sky

and wonder which star next to try.

About viewingcamelot View all posts by viewingcamelot

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