par avion.

the time has come
to pull myself away from gypsies.
to set aflame the bridges,
cut the ties.
i need to find myself in this
hazed box you've built.
the walls, sanded by your fingertips,
are my only guide.
and where were you?
the floor, awkwardly lain,
is my stability.
and where were you?
the ceiling, nonexistent.
and where have you gone?

you spoke sweet stories of
gardens and love.
i sat you with the saints,
created your charms,
shouted to the world many praises.
you, so vain, sipped from my soul,
and spoke sweet stories of
gardens and love.
speak to me now, again.
light skulls and heavy hearts.
show me the trinkets you've picked up
on your travels across my mind.
surely you've seen,
surely you know.

i've breathed the colors of your eyes,
felt the beating of your heart.
apologize to me now, again.
i've since forgotten the temperature of your fingertips.
i've lost the memory of trivial conversations,
dirtied with falsehoods.
look for me now, and i'm gone.

when the bees make honey in the lion's head,
allow for a witness
in your unholy presence.
allow for a martyr in your world.
let us fly with Icarus,
fly on frail wings of vanity and wax.
oh, how i fell.
oh, how we'll fall.

we are not the same.