Pinwheels and Saccadas
A she pinwheel,
spat bombs and stars
smacked them around with metal wings
folded them, as hearts embalmed
(Napkins on a queen's postmortem
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 knew her core-the warmth of it all
it came out once a millennium (give or take-broil or baked).
Like a saccade (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
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