Hunt
when death kisses you
it burns and you wonder
if flesh can endure
it won’t of course
blood and breath
all end in bone
but still you stand
with face turned
into the winds of time
they say he likes
it
like that
they don’t
know him
at all
the women have not
come
to claim them
speared
the heart stilled
blinking dumbly
shadowed darknesses
upon the planes
of form
breath belongs to him
heart replaced with stone
beats at his behest
as fury rages
poetry spilled
scarlet
by killer
old and dark
deeper than mortal
crooked yet gentle
skins twined
about the cup
i am to become
as smoke
some season soon
across the
autumn evenings’
woodburnt sky.