Marginal note #2

Sore wings,

    I’m flying in on a prayer.

We eloped

    nonchalantly 

    bathing ourselves -honeymooners- in Amber

But now,

    I dine not on honey and milk

    I breath not lilac-scented fumes

    All roses of sharon sucked away

          through a chink in my sky

          into the vacuous Out, out… out.

Feathers ruffled,

Beak cracked,

    Desire that once graced us blind

                     only graced me Dumb

So now I awake to sore wings

and post-mortem-reality  visage

Pain me, lover

Thou has pained me with love

Now I fly in on a wing and a prayer.