This weekend, I slept

You wear no crown or hold sceptre in hand
Your tales, they fill me
Like love in the sands.

As ash and dust, with plenty for trust
Birds seek honey, and bees are smushed.

I want to write, I listen to feel
Without cacophonous women
Repenting my keel.

If your love is ambivalent
Grind stars to icy crush
And wander the Dream
Relive snow into slush.

Sister, you lied,
For stars long have died.
Spectres winked at you
Across our divide,
A litany in squalls replace
My stars in your skies.

Emerald wears no robe and diamonds break not their rods.
Time’s stories, they thirst me.
Searing Eternity’s sands for a coin,
A pearl to offer with our Dream-swept land.

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