the birds didn't sing their song to the leaves
"She tasted like vinegar the first time I had her"
the transcending sky prayers hummed instead
The carousel he slid me on spun too fast
he knew: their capricious demonic screeches would frighten the color away
He had me in a champagne glass with an olive on a tooth pick and gulped me down with his eyes shut and head cocked back
to him" the savages of flight sang in fervent. majestic tones
He whispered that I tasted like sin, and reached for another glass
their song ended in a hollow apology
He ate the olive, stirred me with the tooth pick; the carousel spun too fast again.