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You see her frightful beauty, her bird-bone-fingers,
the angles of her wingless shoulders, and
you know you must break her–
hold her hollow bones beneath you,
know the softness of the sky.
Her pale skin is glowing
ice in transient moonlight.
lulled by the whisper of her breath
you stare, astounded by shades of gray,
like layered clouds, around her iris.
Those eyes might cry for you,
rain on the desert that is her smile-barren face,
and blossom soft and tender amidst those thorns,
surely then her lap would not be steel,
and her dreamless eyes might see you.

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