Majesty


Look at me.

Her eye contains the orbit with a planet and its rust.
Two halos in their hooded skin, collapsing into dust.

And my gift?

Emerging from an orchard ripe with berries at the root,
Her mouth blooms bruised, aching still, from the fire of my fruit.



Proboscis

I was always hungry, she would tell me later. From the very beginning.