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.