Pinwheels and Saccadas

A she pinwheel, spat bombs and stars smacked them around with metal wings folded them, like hearts embalmed (napkins on a queen's post mortem buffet). Hid her heart(deep)well, so well they thought she may have the stubble of a trident tail- Many tasted her sweetened flesh she devoured theirs... they messed with her web then tumbled to their death (a used meets a used lament). They became bombs or stars, were forgotten but they never forgot her but i new her core-the warmth of it all it came out once a millenium(give or take-broil or baked). Like a saccada (warmth with high pitched confusion) a desperate song revealed high in the trees low in the scrub under waves the skin of the sky.. the grave and the gate. they ate her flesh she devoured theirs we knew each other to the core and perished. and no this isn't about you!so save your harshness for when i write something about you