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letra de thorn woos the wound - victory over the sun

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if the reaching arm could only sprout feathers
her eyes entombed by the burning nothing
your rosehearted, faceless truth
and your mouth, the begged-for hanging sword –
she would cast herself in your image

if the reaching arm could only hold
a lantern to this avenue of sighs
veil inviolate, fluttering above the trench
veil gaseous, in dancer’s loving tongue

if the reaching arm could only sit patient
waiting for the flesh of memory to rot and decay
waiting for the train to leave the station
in a billowing transm-ted cloud
waiting for the stars to fall
waiting

if the reaching arm could only fray
the looming shadow of the sun
that heaven rotates
upon her tender hip

- victory over the sun

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