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.