Jay Lake (jaylake) wrote,
Jay Lake

WIP, of a sort

the book was bound in skin, though she'd always sworn it had not been that of a thinking man

brass as bright as sunrise, cold as polar winter

his feet are exactly as long as the devil's

you can see them all, through the water they keep in their homes

who knew you could whet a feather to such sharpness?

the ink of prophets staining her hands

no matter what he meant to say, his mouth would only utter Adamic

the nibs of the pen were cut from the bones of angels

stained glass rising to an impossible height, yet narrow as hope

would that it had only been blood, and nothing more
Tags: wip, writing
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