The Beggar Kings

His ache slithered
softly down her
beautifully crushed spine.

They made each other see
all the brand new moons,
and the newborn stars.

The clay of mistakes
dried gray under his nails,
while the lowered gaze
concealed her guilt.

The cage where
his soul learned to breathe
met the hollow where
her sin lived.

Many arms studied
the canvas of doubts,
the hills of passion,
and the valleys of lies.

His presence felt like a
blasphemy of abundance
to her famine of life.

Yet the girl seemed
to enjoy the company,
bathing in the salt
of unfamiliar touch.

In my nightmares
we still talk, you know?
In my dreams
we hold hands
and dance.

Where we meet
we have nothing.

Where we sleep
we are beggars.

Where we perish
we are the kings.

Emptyhanded with
freedom.

Rich with the endless
currency of time.

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