Belle of Nashville

Sweet

Go on

I can see from the tips of your westward wings, where the talons should pierce the skin. 
Since you speak to me as the wind, lips and tongue rushing in from faces made of rocks and rainbows, where do I put my ears?

May your mo(u)rning break with the weight of light, where the talons have pierced the skin. 
Leave the husks there for the scavengers, as the ash in the fire pits there. 
Destiny dictates a new direction. 
Where do I put my ears?

Ghettov Milan