The Thunder Perfect Heart

I move like the winds through a pine barren
and my heart is crystallized, atrophied ice.
My sclera are fogged with the dead, bleeding
souls of my raven boys, don’t touch the gale
of my lungs, for I breathe out ruin and rue.
Hold me if you want beasts to devour maidens
if you want mountains to quiver like breasts
and avalanches to crush, my death blow rips
through hearth and home, I am thunderheads,
I am hurricanes, never touch your doom, don’t
look at the banshee as I clean your death robes,
for I gnash, and I devour, and I suck men dry –
don’t love the diseased, madwomen are witches.
We are not meant for shadowlight kisses, curses
are all we know, and to reveal ourselves is death
I am not so far from the cliff’s edge, soon, I will


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