Page 85 of Dirty Little Saint

Butterflies swim in my stomach. He looks nervous. Felix Crane never looks nervous.

“Here goes…”

He puts on his glasses and clears his throat.

“There’s nectar on my lips.

A fire in your eyes

The whisper of a wish

For our ship to sail nine tides

There’s a beginning that tows the line.

And an ending that bears no fruit

But in these quiet spaces, you are mine

When the world sleeps, I belong to you.

You could bring me wildflowers.

Or a bucket of mustard seeds

I’ll fight off all your demons, chop down every single weed.

You could steal a thousand hours.

Be the water when I forget how to flow.

I’ll rhyme all your reasons…

Every single brutal blow.

But the raven flies straight

And the Melancholia fantasy seems so far away.

We could call it impossible, call it fate.

Or we could bottle it up like lightning and save it for another rainy day.

There’s a pulse that beats when you find your way to me.

A ferocious growl that aches

When the wolf meets the beast, we’re face-to-face.

When the need festers and you can’t stay away.

Now the whiskey no longer numbs the pain.

We are damaged.

We are broken.

We are fauna.

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