aurin squire


A Burning

It all tastes like funeral ash to me;
exquisite feast set out in banquet hall.
Tonguing down the bile, a bitter dark sea,
A casket'ed table for bearers pall.

It was a long time coming, we sigh sips.
Now we gather 'round plates of dust
Scooping the dry mulch between our lips,
as our gray eyes flicker off the rust.

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