|Blogs > eriedragon4 > Dragons' bytes|
It is cold inside the deck of cards
the god’s are playing with.
We sit brittle on the bare cliff of a heart
in finicking focus of the abyss spades ploughed
with mouths-in-labour-of-death, spitting
pearls and diamonds as remains of stars.
In answer you wrap the ruins of fate
onto your willowy fingers,
in harmonious petaloid writing gestures,
convert three- into four-leaved clover.
This fringes our callowing minds onto the edge
of that heart, over the tiles as armour
so sweetly decorated with passion.
In nefarious reputable relationships
of past and presence we shuffled where
we are now, the rudiments of future.