1.
age tells on heroes
their noir iconic
mortality asks
questions, their wounded
fleshy rags trembling
with a honeyed veil
bound in rumours of
the bitter divine.
They immigrate to
that inky sentence,
lover-men to the
silent lonesome bride
shuffle behind the
clouds with leaves weeping
at the constant stars
2.
no visible scars
oak trees surrendering to
voluptuousness
the hero with a
broken mask shifts between a
twelve fingered guru
who’s merciful, a
drunken reprobate and a
omega inscribed
girl who clenches when
she drains fine wines, dilettante
tongues and bloody tears
