Belonging to a
snake goddess
with heliotrope wings
Endless rains
and whispered
grass notes.
Walk towards an end
that neither can justify
or fathom.
Sparks of cyan
lit our own
embers into halos
of thorns
and wrenched-loose
holiness.
What wings we have had are now
charred and
beaten.
The winds not strong enough to scatter them,
simply rustle them around
our tattered bodies
and hearts.
constant reminders of
your time-
my decay.
fields of ruin,
with our own bones filling them.
They’ll call us dragons,
but worship only our fire.