Bring together
With softness, forever,
Pulling our hearts
From galaxies, apart.
Winter has
At its earliest arrival of white,
To feed our starving souls,
Tempted mouths
The milk from a star.

All, but infants,
To be undressed within
The cradle of night.
A lullaby
To share, with the sigh,
With the cry
Of ourselves among
Hellish appetite.

The winds move your breasts
To the shape of the moon.
Distant faces, carved
Upon pallid flesh.

All, as the infant
To douse us
In starlit sustenance,
Weeping in our petulance,
From our abstinence.

Horn below
And mouth to blow.
Taste the blood-tipped dagger
Carrying your symptoms,
So light.

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