Beginning again behind the fire stained door, I woke to your voice.
In the air you sing.
Hands covered in torn feathers, my poems lodged in my throat you see the sorrow in the lines around my eyes.
But in that room where the words are not enough to explain what we did, I wait, in silence, again for you to pour silver into my mouth.
Needle marks along my lifeline, the tracks lead only to her.
Legs too numb to carry me any further.
But my eyes are strong enough to make out all I need to see, your red hair in the haze of every night. Keeping me sane enough to spill words onto skin.
In the safety of our tower, in the darkness of our days.