He sighs and weeps for you. The silent song of feathers spinning solemnly in the morgue moonlight… a grievous roar sounds from high up on a perch in the silence of winter passing into death. You cannot hear it. Just know that it happens and it’s for you - it’s all for you. You keep me alive with the spiral water in the glass. Of night and the water of violence, of longing that will never be forgiven, it marks the glass like acid. There were some whispers among feathers that this was the right part of town for longing. The right time of the day in this death-dappled region of earth. The sun a stone setting on the plate etched to the horizon.
“
| — | Grace Krilanovich (The Orange Eats Creeps) |
