How many gods worship dust?
How many breaths come cold as rust,
Upon the last sigh you’ll ever unleash?
I can hold your hand
Tighter than I can stand,
Upon the two legs, marked as two pillars
To hold up the fortress that crumbles,
When your stare from the bare streets
Can leave me in frailty.

Dining on death,
Poisoned by muted breath,
Open wounds are collapsed sounds,
Of your eyes buried in the gravel,
Within a road, unknown to be traveled.
I can eat the dust, with you,
I can starve myself of a coming kiss,
Like Neptune never had gravity
Under the weight of the moon.

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