Incendiary Stars

It was a sterling ideal
then, and it shed the sorrows
of dead beams flashing past
broad shoulders and
sharp table edges.
Whispering the prayers of
lovers in the damp heat.

It was a thing I chased, for
the years upon years as I
dreamt it, six fingers forever
grasping at gold and white
straws, forgetting to pull
the condoms of white paper
which lined the old rounds.

Icarus was a warning, but
there was no early shout
the thrill broken, and
washed upon the thumbs
and forefingers, with the
rest left to clip and needle
at webs towards a fly