What can I say about you,
the heavens that open before me?
Grasping a sword, my intestines,
and steeling my gut for redemption...
Frozen in time like a ghost on meth,
the moon hovers, and comes down.
I touch it, I lick it, I make it mine,
but in the end it goes away, like...
Like a belief that one outgrew,
or like a need that one transcended.
Like a hunger that went away,
or a wound that silently healed.