Hot Ashes For Trees

Gilmour says he’s moved on; so too should we.

So appropriate the name of David,
I think. Love
is a Goliath, and I
am a stone’s
throw away, watching,
waiting,
while singed memories rise in woodsmoke
song streaking
through low fog, and the lyrical liquidity
is a balm to my charred
heart, aching –
from and for –
the blackening
blaze.

The incineration of Icarus.

Aileron

Out of the ashes…

Scorched-wing phoenix, fly.

Source: The Suburban Domme