fabulous flight

garlands of furies and days. we gravitate and grow.
words kiss and bite the terminal florescence.

where is the knot on the rock on the fruit on the mouth? 
where is it, my tree? cannot know, unless the order of whirlwind falls into my net of appalling stones of chagrin. 

I quit the stormy landscape of my boiling skin, or Not. 

the sacrifice flows like hungry, thirsty, anxious, forests of hearts entering my fears... the bottom of craving sets the veins of air aflame. my fever, my appetite of assault makes roots and trunks and crowns pierce the rock... 

we suck the juice of ruins until dawn. this is the final knot in the air. Love you, red stone vein.