Sauvignon

Drivel from a glass.

I am old. I am frail. I do not know from when the dock the iron ship sails, but I do know this: Thine words as sweet as summer dusk; a purple musk fallen over a tree line silhouette. A flicker shines as though it's mine, and from my life I breathe again.

In daylight shimmers a misty-eyed mistress of listless woe and agony; profess to me, confess unconsciously the dreams in which my shambled corpse rises from the grave. In the dark and in the night, its shadow crawls among the mites and worms, but I am destined to return to a nightless night. How, in patience, I fly and take flight; I sing and make light of the goddamned catastrophe I ignited in ecstasy. It is you and me.

In which my brother clings to ashes: there is a story of somehow overthrowing the Great Divine. A self-fulfilling prophecy. He's ready and willing to cast off my killing and the flame that flickers,

the light that shines,

the promise that you alone will be mine,

brings him to a goddamned catastrophe.

Destiny is to return to a nightless night.