Sanguinity
I remember your first day
Like holding heart and feather
With sweet skin made of loam
And ale died crimson to appease
You never felt so damn divine
Refining our ingots
I know you won’t refuse our judgments
If you could unfortunately
As you make your way through stark striations
Embalmed with your sweat and skull ground into silt
For myrrh and cinnabar is inhaled
And trays of our milk, wine, and blood nourish moths
© Niklen 9/10/26
