(Written on 11/16/20, but for whatever reason, not posted)

Your breath refracts off
wrinkles on their browsperfect arches, more defined
with every ache of your spine at midnight
bone by bone, throw them into the fire
cast your marrow into the pyre
vials of poison,
to each their own
a, mansion, a lover, perfection
alone
guzzle blue flames,
sand slip down your throat
air seeping out the hull from
inside
the
boat.
A fate of ballrooms and grandeur
of pretend i love you's
and fake gold decor
they love you
love you
you

but is it just me,
or is the sky not quite blue?