tiredness (millenia)

as i wake up,
        my head against the rock, i don't know
what stopped me
but i don't want to be stopped again,

neither by your loamy feathers
                       across my chest
nor by the realization of how
                  soft that wingspan is,

are you to choke me,
  feathered cloth
cooling my fevered throat?
                     the abyss
                             around
       is just too golden...
cotton-calved, hobble up the spiraling
mountain path, one step at a time, pass out
                          as i wake up,
                                     my head against the rock,
wetness
      at the nape of my neck.

i could lift
up your mounted body i could cut
up your wings i could glide above the dark-age villages
as a harbinger
          of famine, i don't know

why i persist.