12-30 Icarus and I

Bruises on my back,

Out of fear he said.

What is it I fear? I replied,

curling into my bruises,

under the white sheets, stained,

with razor thin vines curling black,

red, from the needle piercing, the

pieces of my once-broken legs,

forming.

Bruises on my back,

Out of fear he said.

pulling the silver thread,

through his white teeth,
gleaming, hungry, cutting,

silver needle, flashing,

carved out eyes, craving,

Black feather down.

Black feathers, he held me,

Down. Silver needle,

Flashing.

Bruises on my back,

Out of fear, he said.

I fear what I love,

I replied.

whimpering into the pillow,

of his arms, hiding from,

the bright lights, always whispering,

blotting roses, from my eyes,

while screaming, into his hands,

what I love, suffocating,

 on the black feathered down,

silver needles flashing,

he held me,

down,

out of fear,

flashing.

Bruises on my back,

Out of fear, he said.

Why do I love?

Out of fear, he said,

pushing the silver needle,

through my arching back,

with his hungry teeth,

gleaming in the black bottom,

midnight, of my soles, flaking,

dripping dirt and ink onto,

the floor in a cradling lullaby,

of his hands, crooning, lips parting,

silver thread spinning,

flashing, silver needle spinning,

black feathers, he held me,

down, sewing, black feathers,

bruises on my back

out of love.

Why do you fear?

he said, grinning,

flipping me over,

tucking summer beneath his wings,

silver thread unwinding,

black feather’s unfurling,

pushing me,

off the table,

out of his arms,

out of love,

silver needle,

silver thread,

-again.