Admired, the banded enamouring of a finger serpent that bought precision with a loyalty ride. The invited were vultures that hung like decoration, while the carrion call of matrimonial bells ebbed between timed layers; visible how sediment lies. This is assemblage sanctity; a purchased blank of procession opened and cleared of empty of space.  Chased. Lost. Then replaced.

Sometimes people call it destiny.

Before it closes, mine the vein with the patience of a predatory patient. A thick smattering of intricacies scattered throughout the shattered glass of a conspiracy. She dated remains; a courtship of strains. Tempted by a jugular wine and thankful for the switchblade edge of high-heeled grace.

Glorified, you are just a fake. “Mr Gallows man, a plurality of death swims, but you are not one of them… But a puppeteer by grip of spine… Maybe… Though… One with no kingdom to call his own… It may be relapse… But… His, the loneliest of cartilage… His is safest of all”.

Still.

Languishing in bedlams sheets; sniffing someone else’s bloom. Anguishing upon a bed swollen with mood. A cheat’s hideaway may never cheat encroaching doom. Show me a life that is lived in. Happiness without remorse; make me a reasonable murderer. Don’t show me a beautiful body, naked and un-empowered… Through all the filth… I suppose… We’ll become flowers.

But these canines of stone have gone barking mad. They keep it solitary, this country of severed hands. “Quiet your preaching, you are not saved”. Embalmed in shadowed sands. “You are not saved, you are wed”. A poor wax exchanged for the quivering voice of a muzzled dread.