Talons sharpened and drawn I wait,
in the smoldering
but still living remains.
There’s unnoticed ashes
drifting undetected into your vodka.
I never thought you an angel
but God knows how I wanted to.
We see what we chose
and shut our eyes tight
as we willing free fall
into the clutches of lost causes.
Night again is my sentinel;
she arranges tokens and offerings
inside etherial music
echoing from this poets ink and scars.
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