Tender Lips
Flying never takes me far.
there is enough for me here.
my intention betrays my fluttering touch.
Delicate and fleeting current.
Haunting and hypnotic dance of air.
As I travel among the soft
and the rotten.
This is for what the dead are destined.
Some skeletons breathe too,
but I am not picky.
I never take out of greed or malice or gluttony,
but from duty.
I am but a soldier among the swarm,
with a mission to cleanse Earth of what it doesn't want
and removing evidence of fresh spirits stolen by sky.
I follow the stench of poisonous breath and burning snow.
I rest upon a frozen cheek kiss the ashen skin.
This time, I am the first to whisper goodbye.
Others will follow, but for now my tender lips will have to do.
For I- a fly- have tasted you.