I’ve been Icarus for so long

hands burning

in the sun

with

afterflashes of your

cheeks &

watered-down honey

spilling

from your lips.

There is no rest-stop

in the clouds,

though I try to

lie down there.

They watch me

fall,

condensed brows

furrowed. Curiousity

at the strange human thing

with wings

of myths

dripping

in the sun.

We try to teach butterflies

to crash-land & not

shatter

like delicate insect things.

there is powder

all over my face/

the detritus

of collision.

They do not melt like me,

they tear

like paper

& I wear

their epitaphs

fleetingly.