It was the youngest, brightest time.
Set with fury,
underneath a moon.
We buried our bones beneath a heap.
And,
Watching the miles so far,
We
sung into a staircase.
Sometimes,
obliterated by shame.
To touch, to see
the sweetest guidelines
of love's inside.
As spots of dew
are plucked for a King
The King is running up the stairs!