tricksters

they’ve lights under the water so that it shimmers like fire. let’s trick the moths, the things that fly, they say. make it so that they drown themselves seeking light, pining for warmth when all they feel is the cold.

we swim down. towards the lights towards the inner earth’s own sundown. the things that walk, they swim. some that crawl can fly, once, or again. by wing or by fin. by blessing or by sin. the scent of none and of skin, it carries far in this open water this endless ocean knows no bounds, it is said to touch space, to tongue god between his lips. we swim to his love, to his kiss.

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