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Living vicariously and invading privacy / piracy.

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hands that wake the dead, tenderly
grasp for something lost

a boat on a still lake rocks quietly
as the impenetrable night hums

soft in black water, he
grieves with palms pressed

her tongue moving, wet
in the language of fallen gods

a prayer for forgetting, weighing
like wisps from the mouths of ghosts

i am not your animal, honey
dribbling from the hearts of  their bodies

honey: a crater brimming with black feathers
cradling a small wooden tree

and the dying of something unnamed
in the swill of the sway

he begs for return, he opens his hands
the boat is empty, the lake is dry