It was a summer night.
A windswept moonbeam...

Hauled up
the breast suture...

Immersion in a regal
carnage. Ash colored dawn...

Like swapping your face for
a tormentor. Stop the rains...

Tousling the opulence was
not modesty...

A siege had an agenda
for a suicide match...

Boots in air
an elite brain hangs out...

A livid moon had started
a body count for undoing a book...

It was night sin
of domesticity. Dyed, I am loading...

The hawk was always hatching
a pacer...

Talking points at ground zero
trap the heat. The tyranny...

The doubters will cross the coals
after the raid...