Poetry

The particles, 
spreading a weird cult. 
You were colliding with moons 
daily. 
 
It was a bird call 
under a gilded, cold, dark 
sky. The desire was immense 
than the meet. 
 
You just wanted to feel 
the hurt; flaunting an 
erosion. A coherently large 
body. Is that a mass- 
 
of goddammed invisible? 
It was my harvested pain, 
the lost virginity of a 
spot. The exit war starts 
 
for a gentle colossus.