I hate squawking,
Issues on mutilating the truth.
Backtracking the ruins
On my nails,
Bitten.
Seismic cries revolt
Where liquefaction of dying words
Come to steal breaths,
Eyebaths from bouldering graves.
Brewed illusion
Be mine tonight.
In my vineyard
Of flowers, berries and leaves,
Sweet and bittersweet spells
From your lips,
As we burn the night
And free the moonlit concoction,
Together we’ll drink
Over the cobblestones
Enjoying the bizarre taste
While it lasts,
‘til the picturesque battle.