The Blacksmith

Forge
of smouldering stars;
a corporal collision
leaking sparks.

Clash
of bodies in the fire;
a blistering touch
melting moments.

Writhe
of limbs in the dark;
a limpid varnish
smearing skins.

But scraping spines,
flake a
rust-rimmed
rain of red
and we dissolve
into ashen frames,
coaled now,
just dust.

The bruised sky
cries for our fossils,
trying to
rem
ember.

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