I want to honor those of the burnt
soliloquay when they marched to their
final resting place.
Their ashes are blanketed over the stars.
My eyes are cobwebbed,
robbing me of my vision to hold you
in my complacency.
My pupils cannot guide you
as a well as a flower beckons a bee.
You mentioned the word
and now the world is yours.
You are the watcher of neon lavender skies
and I will die for you.