Like opening a bottle of wine
and letting it breathe
aged from the tempest corpse
a heady scent of decay
in the carrion jar
of our hollowed cathedral
with a lingering caress
of your divine worn grace
mimicking the pulse
in the carrion jar
a feast of shadows
in twilight’s longevity
That beginning gives life to this poem even though you bring attention to death. I like the turn in position
Thank you Fia, for reading and commenting.