i looked up, baffled, into eyes like glaciers

my master pressed his heart to my lips

drink, he said, of the blood like wine

the liquid scalded my throat and I saw

the ancients bow before us.


why do their shoulders sag like Atlas burdens?

i asked him.   he smiled like winter, so cold.

because the dead gods grow weary of prayers,

he whispered, and my time is drawing near.


the ancients lilted like choirs of seraphim,

eldritch tongues painting the sky alizarin

blood spilled, flooding the gulf between us

i choked on the meat.  it stuck in my throat.

breathe, he urged me.  i struggled for understanding

clinging to ice that spanned the ages.


the pages vanished, and blank slates

bloomed with tomes of lives lost

he took me to the library of the forgotten

where wraiths cling to the shelves like linen-


master skinned me and hung me out to dry

took my wet insides and strung them

from the stars.


sleep, he urged me, as I wilted in his hands.

i woke anew in the gloaming, butterfly-winged

master had become one with the wine,

flowed through me- he is my daily bread,

the nectar of longing.  my proboscis

waltzes with reason and rhyme now,

sipping of lost dreams.


the ancients fade, time withers

we are ground into dust.


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