The Sun and Moon were of the same
Heavenly flesh.
Cut from each other,
weathered lovers
sewn together,
but ripped apart by the Red
Sky’s envy.
They walked hot coal clouds,
barefoot and bare-hearted.
The Sky is a lonely Hell.
You can ask anyone
who has been there,
but no one knows more
than the wives of broken
skies, who loved with silk
atmospheres for centuries.
That was before people came and built
The Sky—built to burn.
Envy is not green.
It’s more red than
liberated blood.
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